Before the Tide
by bibliosexual
Summary: "I run away from my problems. It's easy, and I'm good at it. But for some reason, I don't think I'll be able to run away from this." Finnick and Annie's story. Previously titled With the Tide
1. Chapter 1

I was awake before the sun, doing my best to stifle the screams.

_Dream_, I tell myself, trying to calm the tremors running through my body. _It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream._ Blood erupted from my brother's chest, caused by a spear thrown by a faceless tribute. _Still only a dream._

I realize that no amount of mornings spent convincing myself that my nightmares aren't real will ever leave a lasting impression in my mind. But that won't keep me from trying.

After a few minutes of shaky breathing I slowly place my feet on the cold ground. I grab my shoes and already have the laces tied before my tired brain notices that I haven't put pants on yet. Sighing, I yank them off and pull on a pair of shorts and a fresh shirt before slipping on the shoes again and opening the door to leave my room.

My mother stands in the kitchen. I hesitate in the doorway, watching her. She floats in between the rusted sink and ancient table. Her eyes are panicked and dart around the room, and her hands tremble. I shake myself out of my daze and slowly approach her.

"Come on, mom." I say, holding out my hand.

Mother doesn't seem to notice me at first. When she does, her eyes widen with urgency. "It's today," she croaks. "The Reaping. It's today."

The clarity of her speech is disturbing. Normally mother has trouble focusing and forming complete sentences. Of course, she was talking about the Day of the Reaping. You couldn't get much more focused than that.

"Come on, mom." I repeat. This time I don't wait for her to take my hand. I grasp it tightly and guide her to our tiny living room. After murmuring some soft assurances I manage to coax her onto our threadbare couch, and within minutes she's asleep.

I absentmindedly stroke her hair, studying her face. People used to tell me I looked just like her, but our eyes are different. Hers are a light brown, but mine are green like the sea. Like my dad's.

"Luke," she mutters, voice thick with sleep. Frowning, I lean forward to kiss her gently on the cheek. I stand and walk to the front door, which creaks loudly when I open it. Mother doesn't stir and I shut it quickly behind me before sprinting off in the direction of the beach.

I don't really think about why I run. In District Four it's normal for kids to train for the Games. But those are the Careers, and I definitely don't fit into that category. I don't think of this as training. Training involves spears and coaches and a bloodthirsty attitude that I'll never have. This is more like a precautionary measure. Something to keep me sane. When my brother's presence is too much, when my thoughts become hysteric at the thought of the Games, I run. Other than swimming and tying knots, it's the only thing that can calm me down.

My house is closer to the market than the ocean, so it's a long run to the beach. I hardly notice. I'd been doing this practically every morning since I was ten. The only thing that had changed was that I'd gotten faster.

Once I arrived at the beach I threw myself down onto the cool sand. Focusing on catching my breath, for the next several minutes I enjoyed the feeling of the sun baking my skin. It's moments like these that I relish. When my heart thrums in my chest and my legs burn from exertion and the ocean whispers in my ears.

When my breathing slows down I notice something feels off. The beach – usually littered with fishermen heading out with the tide or Careers going through their morning routines – was deserted. I sat up and cursed with realization. The Reaping. How could I forget?

I don't start humming, which I have the habit of doing whenever I'm nervous. Instead, I grip my shirt in my hands and pull it over my head. I have a bathing suit that I wear whenever I plan to swim, but I don't have any reservations about swimming in my underclothes, especially when no one is around to watch. I dive into the crystalline water and float for around a half hour before paddling back to shore to sit next to my clothes.

I gaze out at the ocean and sigh. I stare at the sea a lot, more than the average person does. The water doesn't captivate me, but my thoughts do. When I was younger, my brother would take me to this part of the beach to swim. He would weave in and out of the waves, disappearing underwater for minutes at a time before popping up yards away from where he had originally started.

I always demanded to know how he did it, but he would only laugh and say, "I'm part fish."

"Is that where daddy went?" I would ask. "Did he turn into a fish?" Luke would nod gravely and tell me a fantastic tale about our gilled father, who was the bravest fish in the sea. I still don't know who my father is or what happened to him, so for all I know he really is out there, swimming around.

I don't miss him. I can't even remember anything about him, except for his eyes. I can remember Luke, though. I miss him every day.

Luke had always been strong and athletic, so no one was surprised when he volunteered for the 61st Hunger Games when he was eighteen years old. He had trained for all his life under the guidance of our grandfather who had died the year before. We were kicked out of the house where we lived with him in Victor's Village, and Luke was itching to reclaim the family honor. He charmed his way through the Capitol and got a 9 for his training score. Losing was never a thought in his mind.

It was almost ironic, if you looked at it from a cynical point of view, that the Games would be held in a desert wasteland that year. He hadn't stood a chance, and was killed in the initial bloodbath of the Cornucopia. I was eight.

Mom couldn't really handle it. She couldn't stay strong for me, and her sanity slowly slipped away. She doesn't do much of anything now, except drink alcohol when she can find it and do tiny, inane tasks around the house that serve no purpose. I make nets and take out tessera to fill the gaps that the money grandfather left us can't cover. I know I should resent her, but I don't. The only thing I hate now is the Games, and anyone who has anything to do with them.

"Odd day for a swim, wouldn't you say?" a voice asks, and I gasp. Without turning to look at who was speaking, I snatch up my shirt and yank it over my head. The voice chuckles and continues, "Shouldn't you be at home with your family?"

"Shouldn't _you_ be at home with _yours_?" I shoot back and tug my shorts up my legs. I glance over my shoulder while I fumble with a button and nearly stopped dead. District Four's very own victor Finnick Odair stands five feet away from me, a smirk on his face.

Everyone knows Finnick Odair is good looking. In District Four, it's a well regarded fact. With his sea green eyes, bronze-colored hair, and wicked smile, he was definitely pleasing to look at. The Capitol had loved him when he was chosen to participate in the 65th Hunger Games. He seemed to love them too, the way he winked and threw kisses to the adoring crowd.

He had killed six of his opponents with a net and trident.

Finnick's smile widens as I get to my feet. Still feeling as exposed as I'd been moments ago, I fight the urge to cross them over my chest and stare directly into his eyes instead.

"No need to get so touchy," he laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I was only trying to make polite conversation. We're all a little closer on the Day of the Reaping, wouldn't you say?" His eyes are narrowed, and despite his light tone, it's obvious he's being sarcastic.

I decide not to respond and pull my hair out of the ponytail I'd put it in earlier today. It was still damp from the water.

"Nervous about the Reaping?" Finnick asks, acting like I hadn't ignored his first question.

"You could say that," I deadpan. I know I shouldn't be, considering the odds. I'm sixteen, so normally my name would only be entered five times. But I'd taken out tessera once every year, and in exchange for a meager supply of grain and oil, my name was in five extra times. It didn't help me sleep at night, but it kept my mother fed.

Anyway, considering the amount of starving kids that were forced to take tessera every year coupled with the Careers who might volunteer, the chances of me being chosen are slim. But sometimes slim just isn't good enough. Cresta is a well-known name in the Hunger Games, and I know that makes me more likely to be chosen. The Capitol loves familiar faces.

Finnick looks at me critically. "You'll be fine," he says after a few seconds.

I roll my eyes. "You can't guarantee that."

"True," Finnick admits. "But maybe the odds are in your favor."

I snort and think of my crazy mother, dead brother, and absentee father. They certainly hadn't been so far.

"I should get going," I say, eager to get away. Despite everyone's poorly hidden adoration for Finnick Odair, I'm not impressed. His arrogance practically radiates off of him. "It won't be long before it starts."

I don't have to say what _it_ was. _It _was on the mind of every person in District Four, every kid with their name written on a slip of paper that could just as easily be their death certificate, every parent with a child between the deadly ages of twelve and eighteen, every person all across Panem.

The Reaping. The Hunger Games. What no one can escape.

"Wait!" Finnick says. "You never told me your name!" He doesn't ask me if I know his. Of course I know. Everyone knows.

I consider lying, but I decide to be honest with him. "Annie Cresta!" I call over my shoulder.

"I'll see you around, Annie Cresta!" Finnick yells after me. He doesn't seem to recognize my name.

I leave the beach ready for the 69th Annual Hunger Games to end.

* * *

"Isn't it such a relief?" my friend Lana asks from where she's stretched out on the sand. "I always feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders once it's over." She's referring to the Reaping, which had ended nearly an hour ago. Two tributes had been chosen – this year both Careers – and everyone in District Four breathed a little easier knowing that if they had to send two children off to the slaughter it would at least be two _willing _children.

I hate the Games. After what happened to Luke, I can't glorify any part of it. It isn't an honor like they tell us every year. It's punishment for an uprising seventy years ago that we didn't even take part in. Every year twenty four children are chosen from all twelve districts of Panem. While kids have nightmares about their names being chosen as tributes, the Capitol views it as one big party. It makes me sick.

Anyway, I'm safe for another year and can't say I'm not relieved.

"Yeah," I reply distractedly. "Me, too."

I don't really feel like talking, and Lana seems to understand. She knows from experience that I won't be myself until the Games are over. I watch her stand up and brush the sand off the backs of her legs. "It's getting late," she says. "Mom will want me home. See you tomorrow?"

I nod silently and shift my gaze to the ocean. I can hear people laughing, exchanging gifts, and talking in such a tone that said they were placing bets on this year's tributes. I shudder and wrap my arms around myself before getting up to leave. It's a long walk, and when I get home mother is right where I left her after the Reaping, passed out on the couch.

I slip past her and collapse into my bed. Nestled deep beneath the sheets, I wonder for the hundredth time why no one ever seems to cry because of the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

_Hi! *waves awkwardly* So I've been struck with an intense case of fangirling and Finnick and Annie are to blame. They're so...gah. I can't describe it. So, naturally, I've been banging my head against the keyboard and screaming, "ANNIE! FINNICK! ANGST! AAAAAH!" This is the result. _

_I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and if you didn't I apologize. I've got a few chapters saved up, so updates should be coming regularly. Unless I get attacked by a giant squid or something._

_-Kate_


	2. Chapter 2

I'm getting awfully tired of nightmares.

Not mine, for once. Mother's nightly terrors are getting more and more vivid and I'm the only one who can placate her.

It takes time – a lot of time – and mother doesn't help much when she flails around violently and yells my brother's name. There's a wicked bruise trailing across my left cheekbone to prove it. I don't make much effort to conceal it. No one will comment on it if they're too busy whispering about my mad mother.

She's not mad. Only lost.

After I get mom settled down in my bed I make a mental note to talk a vendor out of a bottle or two of liquor later today. Alcohol is illegal, but we can't afford sleep medication and it gets the job done. I pull on a pair of shoes and leave for my daily run.

The sun is just beginning to rise when I get to the ocean. Already boats dot the horizon and I can hear the faint yells of fishermen as they cast out their nets. I slow to a jog until I get to a more secluded part of the beach where I'll be out of the way. It's near Victor's Village, and if I squint my eyes I can barely see the house where we lived with my grandfather.

I turn my eyes back to the beach and come to a halt. Finnick Odair sits on a sandy blanket, looking at me over his shoulder with a bewildered expression on his face. Great. So much for some time alone.

I sit down a few paces away from him and try to keep a scowl from forming. Sighing, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and train my eyes on the sea.

"Hello," Finnick greeted, apparently oblivious to my indignation. I hadn't spoken to him in a month, back when we had our chance meeting on the morning of the Reaping. I'd seen him on television flirting with the camera during interviews, but I'd been too busy focusing on my mother and avoiding watching the Games to care.

I pull my hair up into a ponytail and act like it's too difficult of a process to reply. I think he notices the bruise, but he doesn't comment.

Finnick stares at me for a few more seconds, obviously waiting for a response, but after I glare at him he shrugs and sprawls out on his stomach to let the sun warm his back.

"How long do you plan on staying here?" I ask, breaking the silence that hangs over us. I would have no issue with sharing the beach with any other person, but this is Finnick Odair. I can't stand him. He's arrogant, ungrateful, and looking at him makes me angry. All I want is for him to disappear.

"Dunno," he drawls, stretching his arms forward. "It's such a nice day."

I huff in irritation. Finnick chuckles and pulls himself into a sitting position. "So Annie," he says. I can't help but look at him in shock. He's so full of himself that I never expected him to remember my name. "What brings you to the beach at such an hour?"

"Oh, I don't know." I reply, voice laced with sarcasm. "What do people usually do at a beach?"

"Well, you don't have a fishing rod," Finnick comments. "Or a boat, net, or spear. So I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you _aren't_ a fisherman." He leans back on his elbows and quirks an eyebrow at me. "You weren't planning on skinny dipping, were you?"

Heat rises to my face and I'm furious with myself for blushing. "No," I say, irritated. "I wasn't planning on skinny dipping. From what I hear, you do that enough for all of District Four."

It's a lie, but Finnick laughs anyway. Of course he wouldn't be insulted. His ego is too big for that. I sigh and turn away from him, hoping he'll take the hint and stop talking.

"Well, if that's what you're here for," Finnick says. "How about we-"

"How about," I interrupt. "We don't talk to each other anymore."

The smile on Finnick's face changes. What was once a generically appealing smirk morphs into a crooked grin. I try to forget I noticed. "Sounds like a fair deal," he says.

We settle into silence, and I small coil of rope from my pocket and start to methodically tie knots. Angler's loops, mooring hitches, figure eights; I don't pay attention to what I'm making so long as it keeps me occupied. I can feel Finnick looking at me, which only fuels my anger.

"Why are you staring at me?" I snap, drawing my attention away from the water. His expression isn't as devil-may-care as it was before. He looks interested, impressed. He points at the rope in my hands and says, "You've got skill."

I look down at the mess of rope in my hand. This is nothing. "Making nets can do that," I dismiss. Finnick shrugs and looks back at the rope. Annoyed, I put the coil into my pocket and stand.

"Where are you headed?" Finnick asks.

I decide not to dignify him with an answer.

* * *

Technically, the fisherman of District Four had no need for nets. The Capitol supplied them with standard issue, mechanically woven nets, but they bent unnaturally and were of little use in the water. Those who could afford it bought handmade nets or ropes and twine to make their own from vendors in the market. Vendors like me.

"You're late," Lana says as way of greeting. She leans against the booth her parents own with a bored expression.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure _when_ Lana and I became friends. We've been in the same class together ever since we started going to school together, but there was no defining moment that marked the start of our friendship. I don't have problems talking to people, but more times than not I prefer solitude. Lana is like that too, so maybe that's how we ended up together.

"I overslept," I lie. I actually took a walk to clear my head of any annoyance caused by the conversation Finnick and I had this morning. Obviously, it was a long walk.

Lena snorts. "You never oversleep."

"Well, I did today." I snap and take a seat next to Lana. "Has it been slow?"

"You could say that," Lana replies. "The Peacekeepers seem to have multiplied. Something shifty must be going on."

Sure enough, numerous Peacekeepers were shuffling around the market, inspecting booths and what they sold. My stomach tightened at the sight. District Four was better off than other districts in Panem, but the Peacekeepers that the Capitol dispersed took illegal bartering of food seriously. If they ever find marine life of too high quality that should have been sent to the Capitol, the seller is publicly whipped or executed.

"Wonder what," I mutter. I quickly survey the town square from its outskirts – the market – but see nothing suspicious.

Lana sighs. "Well, no one's going to buy anything with them lurking around," she stands up and starts to gather the fishhooks, bait, and nets that are littered across the booth. "Everyone is too paranoid. We haven't had a single customer and I've been here for an hour and a half. _Alone_." She adds venomously.

I start to apologize, but Lana shakes her head. "It's fine," she says. "But can you try and get here earlier tomorrow? I don't like sitting here al-" Lana is broken off by a loud ringing noise. My eyes widen and dart towards the center of the town square near the justice building. Peacekeepers were bustling around, shoving the few stragglers who remained into sloppily formed circle that seemed to be surrounding something.

A Peacekeeper grabs me and Lana from behind, pushing us forward by our elbows. "Watch it," Lana hisses, but I don't protest, more driven by curiosity than my aversion to Peacekeepers.

"Citizens!" A Peacekeeper yells. We aren't near the circle yet so I can't see his face, but I think it might be Joffery Herriot, the Head Peacekeeper who has the tendency to forget that we're people and not a herd of cattle called 'citizens'. The Peacekeeper continues to shout, and my stomach constricts when I hear something about a 'crime against the Capitol'.

I wonder what treason could have possibly been committed, but all thoughts stop when I hear the sound of leather striking flesh. I shut down, allowing myself to be pushed forward by the Peacekeeper like a ragdoll. Lana and I stumble into each other as we are shoved towards the small crowd of people assembled around a man kneeling on the ground, a shark that should have been sent to the Capitol nailed to the post above his head. A whip flies toward his back, blood blooming where the fine line of leather once was.

My vision blurs and I don't fight to keep it. I hum loudly – too loudly – I can sense people in the crowd turning to look at me with unpleasant looks on their faces, but it ebbs out the noise enough so that I don't have to hear the whip the next time it descends upon the man's back, or the next, or the next.

I imagine I'm at the beach, the cool sand beneath my toes and the sun caressing my skin. I breathe deeply, smelling the ocean. Luke is out in the water, I can see him swimming. Swimming, not dead. Swimming, not-

"Go," Lana orders, pulling me out of my reverie. I blink rapidly until I can see her standing next to me. Her eyebrows are knit together and she looks concerned. I dully realize that it's me she's worried about. "Go," she repeats, shoving me away from the crowd. "The Peacekeepers won't notice. Just get out of here, Annie."

I trip over my feet but keep my balance and hurry away from the market. Tears stream down my face and I wipe them away hastily.

Just as Lana said, no Peacekeepers follow me, and I arrive at the beach in what feels like seconds. I immediately submerge myself in the water, sinking to the bottom and staying there until the salt burns my eyes and I float to the top.

Finnick Odair lounges on a nearby dock, watching me. His face reveals nothing, and when I paddle to the shore I wonder what he must think of me, with my bloodshot eyes and dripping wet clothes. Crazy Annie Cresta, just like her poor, mad mother. Then I remember that I shouldn't care what Finnick Odair thinks of me. He's everything the Games represent manifested into one body and I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

I repeat this to myself on the long, watery walk home until it loses all meaning.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

****_A/N: Hello! I wasn't kidding when I said I was banging my head against the keyboard and screaming, "ANGST!" Anyway, I managed not to get attacked by a giant squid. Updates should be about once a week, if not more. I have a lot of Finnick and Annie feels to get rid of. _

_Best wishes!_

_-Kate_


	3. Chapter 3

Tying knots is like breathing. It's really that simple. Loop. Around. Under. Through. Pull tight. In. Out. In. Out. Again.

To me it's one of the most natural things in the world, but to Lana's little brother Marius it's like eating with your earlobes.

"You have to go under, not over," I explain for the tenth time when Marius fails to make a correct Carrick Bend. His tiny shoulders slump comically as he looks at the frayed rope tangled around his fingers in disgust.

"I hate tying knots," Marius complains.

"They hate tying you, too." I reply, fingers nimbly repairing a broken net.

Marius sighs. Coming from his little eleven year old body, it's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all day. "I don't want to make nets," he explains. "I want to hunt fish."

"Mar, you don't hunt fish," I snort. "You _catch_ them. With nets, see?" I shake the one in my hands at him. He smiles, but only a little.

A disgruntled Lana had dropped Marius off at the beach with me thirty minutes earlier, grumbling about his inability to manipulate rope. I'd tried helping him coax a frayed piece of twine into various kinds of knots, but they kept turning into a tangled mess. The boy was a lost cause.

"Why'd I have to be born into a family of net-makers?" Marius whines.

"Oi!" I exclaim. "That family of net-makers has kept you well fed your entire life."

"Yeah," Marius says. "With _fish_." I sigh and decide to let him have it, and he cackles delightedly. "Annie, can I go swim?"

"Where are your swimming clothes?" I ask him.

Marius's face falls. "I left them at home."

"No swimming for you," I proclaim, concentrating on my net.

"But _Annie_," Marius starts to groan, but falls silent when a shadow casts over us.

I look up with little interest, expecting to see a cloud shaped like a pirate that Marius will describe to me in great detail for an hour and a half, but do a double take when I see Finnick Odair standing over us.

"Hullo," he smiles down at us. Marius looks up at him in awe.

It's been maybe a week since I last saw him watching me from the dock. I was hoping that week would last a lifetime.

"Hi," Marius greets. Great. Now Finnick has an excuse to stick around. Marius stands up to shake his hand, suddenly maturing to his rightful age. He introduces himself as Rye, a nickname he's been desperately trying to make stick for the past year. Finnick shakes back, a smirk on his lips. I look down at my net, trusting the two eleven year olds to amuse themselves.

I'm sadly mistaken. Marius persuades Finnick to sit with him, and while he babbles on about fish and school and who knows what else, Finnick reaches for the end of my net. I yank it away from him "What are you doing?" I demand.

"Trying to help you," Finnick explains.

"Well, _don't_" I say, turning away from him. Finnick lets out a low whistle, which only irritates me more. I focus on weaving the rope in and out, giving it much more attention than it needs in order to block out the conversation Marius and Finnick are having.

"Mar!" Lana calls, and he's up in a flash, running towards his big sister. I get up as quickly as I can, doing my best to not let the large net tangle. Finnick stands leisurely and stretches his arms. Lana arrives just as I've managed to scoop the large net up into my arms. She eyes the two of us, and I shoot her a look that promises death if she says anything vulgar.

"Hi," Lana says, extending her hand. "I'm Lana Keene."

"Finnick Odair," he shakes her hand firmly. "Rye here was just telling me about what a great fisherman he is."

Lana quirks an eyebrow. "Oh did he now?" She looks down at a very embarrassed-looking Marius. "Tell me about your fishing skills, Mar."

"I will," he mumbles and starts tugging on Lana's sleeve. "_Later_. At _home_. Come on, Lana!"

Lana allows herself to be dragged away and waves goodbye. I would try to wave back, but my arms are incapacitated by the net I'm holding. It's a lot heavier than I expected, and I wonder how I'm going to get home.

"Need any help with that?" Finnick asks.

"No," I scowl. As much as I'd like help, I definitely don't want his. "I'm fine."

"You don't look it," Finnick admits. "C'mon, let me carry it for you. At least for a little while."

"I'm _fine_," I repeat forcefully and shoulder past him, wishing my house wasn't so far away.

"No you aren't," he insists. "Your arms are shaking. Let me help you." Finnick tries to make a grab for the net and I do my best to block him without letting it fall.

"Would you just-" I start to say when the net spills out of my arms.

"Finnick!" I stop struggling with Finnick and look up to discover that I _can_ get more annoyed. Jessamine Baxwoll stands a few yards away from us, smiling coyly. "It's so good to see you to."

An easy smile forms on his face. "Good to see you too," he trails off, hesitating. "Uh…"

"Jessamine," I supply flatly.

"Jessamine!" Finnick exclaims a bit too loudly. I roll my eyes and start gathering the bits of net that had fallen to the ground. Jessamine and I have been in the same class since we were kids, and I'm not eager to stick around. She's fake, rude, and never acts the same around any two people. She and Finnick must get along swimmingly.

"You look great," Jessamine says.

"Thanks," Finnick replies. I'm not eager to listen to their flirtations and start to back away quickly, but Finnick grabs my wrist and holds me there.

"There's a bonfire at the cove tonight," she says while I squirm quietly, trying to get away. "Will you be there?"

The Careers have a bonfire every two months on the only weekend they don't have training. Nestled in a secluded cove that the Peacekeepers didn't patrol, it was strictly limited to the Careers and popular girls like Jessamine.

And boys like Finnick.

"Sorry," Finnick says. I stop struggling and look at him in surprise. A Career bonfire sounds like Finnick's natural habitat. Why wouldn't he go? "I've already got plans. Maybe next time."

"Okay," she pouts. "I'll see you around."

Jessamine slinks forward to give Finnick a hug. He's still holding onto my wrist, but Jessamine deftly maneuvers herself until she's pressed up against his chest. Finnick doesn't react, but an uncomfortable look flashes across his face. Jessamine steps away and winks at him before waltzing off, never acknowledging me.

I mutter a profane word at her retreating figure, and Finnick chuckles. "I'm guessing you don't like her?"

"You could say that," I reply before tugging at the net that Finnick tries to hold again. "Seriously, let go. I've got it."

"Let me carry it," Finnick urges.

An intense battle of tug-of-war breaks out. Frustrated, I cry out, "Don't you have a girlfriend to go bother or something?"

Finnick shook his head. "I don't have a girlfriend," he says.

"Oh, really?" I tilt my head to the side. "I think Jessamine might be eager to hear that. Hey! Jess-"

Finnick's hand slips over my mouth before I can finish yelling her name. His other arm pulls me against his chest and he hisses in my ear, "Will you _shut up_?"

The nets fall out of my arms, and I attempt to wiggle away. Finnick starts to release me, but I don't realize what he's doing in time and bite down on his hand. Hard. He inhales in surprise and I quickly step away from him, flustered.

"You're awful," I spit. "Truly awful."

"Yeah," Finnick says, examining his hand. "And you're ferocious."

"Just stay away from me. Who do you think you are? And _don't touch it_," I seethe when Finnick has the nerve to reach for the net again.

"I was only trying to help," Finnick explains, an annoyed look on his face. "Obviously kindness revolts you. I won't make the mistake again. Sorry."

"Kindness," I snort. "That's a good one. How about arrogance? Or self-absorbed? Or mindless-"

"Careful, Cresta," Finnick interrupts, his words laced with enough venom to make me falter. "You don't want to go around saying things you don't know."

"Oh, I know." I retort.

"You don't know me," Finnick snaps.

"I know the type," I say, turning away. "And that's enough."

"No," Finnick sighs. "It's not."

Something in his tone makes me hesitate, and I look over my shoulder to see him. Finnick's eyes were sad, his mouth set in a frown. But it wasn't just how he looked, but what he'd said and the implications of it. A range of emotions of churned in my stomach and I tried to comprehend them, but none of it made sense.

So I ran.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

_A/N: Hello! I hope you're having a good day. Night. Whichever. Why do I always upload things latelate my time? Oh well. I hope you liked this chapter! (I think it's a bit melodramatic but OH WELL) Constructive criticisms/telling me your favorite kind of syrup is always appreciated. Thank you to everyone who has put this story on alert! You make my day!_

_-Kate._


	4. Chapter 4

_What the hell was that?_

I run away from my problems. It's easy, and I'm good at it. But for some reason, I don't think I'll be able to run away from this.

Maybe it's the net. I heave it over my shoulder and experiment with lengthening my strides. It helps, but only just. I near my house, about to pass out from exhaustion. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, and they're all about Finnick Odair.

He's arrogant, self-absorbed. He's egotistical and takes everything for granted. He doesn't work and bums around District Four whenever he isn't in the Capitol, which is often. He doesn't brush his hair. He has a long list of Capitol lovers that he's never faithful to. He always finds an excuse to take off his shirt.

But I don't know him. Or at least, I don't think I do. Everything I think about him is based off assumptions, stereotypes, and the way he acts when cameras are pointed at him. Maybe underneath all that flirting and bravado, there's a person who hates the Games and what they've done just as much as I do.

And if I'm being honest with myself, the thing I hate most about Finnick Odair is that he's alive. And Luke isn't.

I stumble into the house, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Groaning, I drop the net onto the floor and drag myself into the kitchen for a drink of water. I'm just bringing the cup up to my lips when I freeze. Something isn't right.

I turn around slowly, looking at the couch. It's empty.

"Mom!" I call. No answer. I yell again. Nothing. Worried, I check every room in the house, but they're all deserted. My bottom lip trembles when I shout her name for the sole purpose of hearing noise. It's no use. The house is empty. Mom is missing.

I need to find Lana.

I sprint to her house, fighting the fatigue and panic. I knock on her front door repeatedly until she answers, a perturbed look on her face. I'm probably interrupting dinner.

"My mom," I say, and then burst into tears. Lana steps outside and shuts the door behind her.

"Annie, what's happened?" she asks.

I sniff loudly and try to compose myself. "S-she isn't home. I don't know where she is," I tell her. "I can't lose her, Lana. I can't."

"Calm down, Annie." Lana says. "Just breathe. We'll find her, okay? I'll… I'll go look for her in the market. And you go down to Victor's Village. She might've tried going to your old house. It's going to be alright."

I nod, wiping the last of the tears away. Lana's assuredness has calmed me, and I pull her into a tight hug. We break away and stare at each other. "Don't tell the Peacekeepers," I say. "Whatever you do."

Lana understands and tells me she won't. If they find out about my mother they'll take her away from me and force me to live in a group home until I come of age. Lana runs off in the direction of the market and I pivot on my heel and sprint to Victor's Village.

The Village isn't familiar to me. There are twelve houses in all, each identical to one another with the same pale blue paint and big, sweeping porches that wrap around the entire house. I have hazy memories of the place, either forgotten deliberately or warped by time, but I manage to find the house we lived in easily enough.

I snoop around back, expecting to find my mother hiding there. She isn't, but I search the bushes underneath the raised porch anyway, not ready to admit to myself that she might be floating face-down in the ocean.

The door to the back porch opens suddenly, and I flatten myself against the wall. How could I be so stupid? Of course grandfather's house wouldn't still be empty, not with all the victors District Four has. Someone must be living here now, and if they look down over the railing they'll find me hiding here. I've got to get out of here.

I start to crawl away when I hear someone say, "What are you doing?" I freeze, sure that I've been caught, but then another voice answers them.

"Just getting some fresh air," they explain. Wait. Is that Finnick? Of course. This _would _be his house. Just my luck. I lean against the side of the house and close my eyes, hoping he'll go inside soon.

"No," the other person, who I think might be Mags, the old woman who lived next-door to my grandfather, says. "I mean what are you _doing_?"

I hear the sound of wood creaking, which might be Finnick leaning against the banister and looking out at the scenic view of the ocean. He sighs. "I don't know, Mags."

"I saw you at the beach today," Mags says. "With the girl. What's her name?"

"Annie," Finnick replies begrudgingly. My eyes snap open. I'm not one to eavesdrop, but when you overhear someone talking about you, you can't really resist.

"Cresta?" There's a pause. "I knew her. She used to live here with her grandfather."

"Really?"

"I mentored her brother," Mags says. My stomach tightens. That's right. She did. "She was a sweet little thing."

"You'd never guess that now," he blurts.

"Finnick!" Mags admonishes. They chuckle quietly for a while before slipping into silence.

"It's just…refreshing," Finnick says finally. "To not have a girl flinging herself at me. To not have someone look at me like I'm a hero. It's nice to have that. Even if she is insolent and has violent tendencies."

"Violent tendencies?" Mags questions.

"She bit my hand!" Finnick exclaims. "I was only trying to help her carry some nets, for crying out loud."

Mags chortles. "Is that what you were trying to do?"

"I got a little bit overzealous," Finnick admits. "I've been trying to do good deeds, like you suggested."

"Oh," Mags says. They're quiet. I bite my lip furiously, trying to process it all. I didn't think Finnick could be so human. Maybe he-

Wait. What am I doing, listening to this? I have to find my mother.

I start to move away as quietly as I can. I've almost made it to the front of the house when I hear Finnick's voice. "Ma'am!" he yells. I jerk around, looking at the beach. A figure stands on the shore a few hundreds of yards away. My heart fills with relief. It has to be my mother. It just has to be.

I no longer care if I'm seen. I race towards the beach, cutting across my old – or I guess Finnick's – yard. The sand is unsteady and I stumble when I reach it, but I feel like I've never run faster in my life.

My mother looks out at the ocean, wind blowing through her hair. She doesn't notice when I approach her. Her brown eyes stare unwavering at the water, and I worry that I won't be able to get her to move.

"Mom," I whisper, and her eyes slowly find mine.

"Luke's late home from school today," she says simply. "I'll stay out here and wait for him. He gets distracted by the water."

Once again, her clarity is frightening. She's never been this focused before.

"Mom," I repeat. "Luke isn't here. We have to go home."

Mother shakes her head. "No,"

I can hear Finnick and Mags nearing, and I tug on her hand urgently. "Mom, we have to go."

"No," mother says, pulling away. "Luke."

"Luke isn't here," I murmur. "Mom. Please."

"Have to wait for Luke," mother mutters, her eyes shifting back towards the sea.

"Mom," I cry. "Look at me. Mom, look at me."

"Luke," mother repeats, rocking back and forth lightly on the balls of her feet.

Mags is at my shoulder. "Annie dear," her voice is full of pity. I hate it. I step away from her, closer to mother.

"Mom," I repeat. She won't look at me. She never looks at me.

I gasp when Finnick brushes past me. "Excuse me," he says, stepping up next to my mother.

"What are you-" I start to yell, but I cut off suddenly when he scoops her up into his arms. Mother doesn't react. She's disappeared inside herself again.

"Where to?" Finnick asks casually, mother cradled in his arms.

I blink at him stupidly. "Uh…" I say. Finnick looks at me expectantly. "My house. It's over that way."

Finnick nods and starts walking. He looks over his shoulder. "Go rest at the house Mags," he calls. "I'll be back soon."

Mags nods her head at me before making her way up to the house. Finnick keeps walking, holding my mother carefully.

I have no choice but to follow.

We walk in relative silence. I quietly give him directions when necessary, but otherwise we don't talk. It feels like a weight is hanging over us, and I don't know what to say or do to make it go away.

When my house comes into view Finnick sighs in relief. I hurry forward to open the door, but realize that I'd left in swinging open in my panic to leave. Embarrassed, I hold it open for him.

It's odd seeing Finnick here without the flash of cameras or his infamous smirk.

Finnick clears his throat. "Where should I uh…" he shifts mother in his arms.

I realize I've been staring at him this whole time. "Oh! Uh," I point at the couch. "Over there is fine."

Finnick lays her down gently, like she's a child. He steps back quietly as if he's afraid to wake her, but she won't. She's retreated inside herself and won't come out for a while.

"Thank you," I tell him softly. It's hard for me to say. I'm not used to accepting help.

"It's fine," Finnick says. He pauses, obviously fighting with himself about whether or not he should say something. "Your mom…said something on the beach. About someone called Luke."

I look down, not sure how to respond. Part of me is angry. Who does he think he is, intruding on something like this, so private and painful? But another piece of my mind is telling me that I owe him this, an explanation.

"Was he your brother?" Finnick prodded.

"Yes," I whisper.

Finnick is silent. He's waiting for me to speak.

"He volunteered," I say quietly, trying to keep my voice from breaking. "For the 61st Hunger Games. Luke Cresta. Career."

"I-" Finnick starts to say, but I talk over him.

"Everyone thought he was going to win," I continue. "I remember… I remember he told me right before he left that he'd be back before the tide could rise. I believed him. I really did. And then…then he died and-"

"Annie," he murmurs, walking toward me. I step back, determined to finish.

"It was such a waste, Finnick. There wasn't a point to it, there wasn't any reason. People say it's honorable to be a tribute, but it's not. The Games aren't something you should be…proud about. Not when it's glorified murder."

Finnick looks at me intently. I try to avoid his gaze, holding my arms tightly to me. Tears are trickling down my face but I don't acknowledge them. "I hate the Games, Finnick. I hate what they've done and I hate what they do. So that's why I hated you. And I'm sor-"

I'm in his arms before I can protest. Stunned, I let him hold me, knowing that he might need this more than I do.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called_ fan_fiction.**

****_A/N: Well, that was nice, wasn't it? Or terrible. It was probably terrible. *dances awkwardly* Anyway, sorry for the delay. Hopefully this is soon enough for you guys. My rule is to only upload when I have the next chapter ready, and I suffered from a brief bout of writer's block after finishing this chapter. Thankfully, I've written enough of Chapter Five to feel comfortable uploading Chapter Four._

_BUT THE NEXT CHAPTER. My friend said it "murdered me(her) right in the fangirl". So...hopefully that's...good...?_

_-Kate_


	5. Chapter 5

Lana and I make nets together every Sunday. It's a ritual of ours, weaving rope around each other to make the bigger and more complicated nets. The only intruder we are likely to have is Mar.

And now Finnick.

He's out in the shallows with Marius, playing tag. Mar had initially claimed to be too old for such a childish game, but Finnick had convinced him after some lighthearted teasing.

"How's Mar doing?" I ask Lana while making a complicated loop.

"He's fine," Lana says. "Just nervous about his birthday."

Marius turns twelve next week. Twelve is reputed to be the worst birthday – it's the year you become eligible to be selected for the Games. I was a nervous wreck during the month leading up to mine and was prone to sporadic crying fits. Lana held up much better, but that's probably because she had a family to reassure her. Likewise, Marius seems to be coping rather well as of late.

"So," Lana drawls, letting me know she's about to divulge something profound. "What's up with you and Finnick?"

I refuse to look at Lana, so I watch the game of tag instead. Mar tackles Finnick, who falls over dramatically. "Nothing," I explain seriously. "He just needs a friend right now."

Lana quirks her eyebrow at me.

"A _friend_," I repeat slowly, putting as much emphasis into the word as possible.

"I'm not criticizing you," Lana says, shrugging. "I would be his _friend_ too, ifyou know what I mean."

I know what she means. Only it's not like that. When Finnick helped me with my mother that day on the beach, my opinion of him changed completely. I thought he was ungrateful and superficial, but I realize more and more each day how compassionate he can be.

I pull myself out of my reverie in time to see Lana making a ridiculous face that she must find suggestive. I roll my eyes at her, letting her know that I don't find her insinuations funny.

"Finnick," Lana breathes in a low, husky voice. She's trying to get a reaction out of me, and it works.

"Lana," I laugh, pushing her lightly. She lets herself fall back onto the sand, waggling her eyebrows at me. That sends me into such a loud burst of giggles that the boys come over, curious.

"What's so funny?" Mar asks.

"Nothing," I say a little too quickly.

"Annie was just telling me about all the different ways you can use a Bow Knot," Lana lies, smirking at me.

Marius furrows his eyebrows. "Isn't that the knot you can use a handcuffs?"

Finnick snorts loudly and tries passing it off as a cough. "Yeah," he says. "That's the one."

Mar is quiet for a while, taking this in. "Can someone explain the joke to me?" he asks desperately, making us all snicker.

"Alright," Lana sighs, heaving herself up until she's standing. She puts a hand on Mar's shoulder. "Time to go home."

"But I don't wanna go home," Mar whines. "Can't I play with Finnick a little longer?"

"You've bothered Finnick enough," Lana says. Finnick starts to protest, but Lana continues. "It's time for dinner anyway. Come on, maybe if we stuff you with enough fish you'll finally hit your growth spurt."

After some grumbling and sheepish resistance, Marius and Lana were ambling away, calling over their shoulders that they'll see us tomorrow.

Finnick and I wave goodbye until they're out of sight, and then I'm suddenly aware of the awkward silence. My arm drops limply to my side. I'm not sure of what to say. Finnick rubs the back of his slightly sunburned neck, not looking at me.

"Do you want to-"

"What if we-"

We both stop, sheepish grins forming on our faces. "You first," Finnick says.

I take a deep breath and start again. "Do you want to go on a walk?" I ask. Then, hastily, I add, "At least until sunset. Unless you need to get back home or-"

"A walk sounds great," Finnick interrupts. I smile at him and start to walk, enjoying the sensation of cool sand beneath my feet. We walk in silence for several minutes, and I get so lost in thought that Finnick has to physically stop me from walking into the middle of a construction site.

"Oh," I gasp, focusing on the sight in front of me.

"Victory Tour," Finnick says, explaining the raised stage a handful of men are erecting on the beach. "They like to have the celebratory dinner on the beach."

I nod, admiring the beautiful view the attendees are having. "But the Victory Tour isn't for another month, if even."

"Mayor Allardyce is a big fan of perfection," Finnick says. "He'll want to make sure everything is perfect weeks before anything actually needs to be perfect."

"Are you going?" I ask.

Finnick nods, frowning. "You don't look that excited about it," I say.

Shrugging, Finnick takes a step toward the stage. He mutters something so quietly I'm forced to stand closer to him.

"What did you say?"

Finnick shakes his head. "It doesn't matter." A wicked grin forms on his face. "Want to see if we can sneak up on the stage without anyone noticing?"

I start to snicker, but something I see out of the corner of my eye makes me stop. Out by the water a pack of Careers stands, watching the stage's construction. They laugh and point, occasionally shoving each other in what's supposed to be a playful manner, but has an underlying aggression to it. From what I can tell they haven't noticed us. Not yet.

"No," I say. "No, I think we should go back."

Finnick's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What?" he asks. "Why?"

"Come on," I urge. "Let's go."

"But why?"

"I'll explain later," I say, grabbing his arm. "Let's go, okay?"

Finnick relents and starts to walk with me, but it's too late. They've seen us.

"Hey Annie!" One of them calls, and Finnick looks over his shoulder.

"Who is that?" he asks.

I don't turn to look. "Just keep walking,"

Finnick walks, but it's obvious he wants to know why. Once we're a comfortable distance away from them I start to explain in a hushed voice. "They're Careers," I say. Finnick gives me an annoyed look that lets me know that that was obvious, so I start talking faster. "I knew them growing up. We were…friends, sort of. We aren't now, obviously. So I don't really enjoy seeing them. They're…crass and, well, you know. You understand, right?"

He nods, and I sigh with relief. "So what do you do at the Victory Tour?" I ask, hoping to change the subject.

"Smile for the cameras. Congratulate the victors," Finnick says mechanically, not looking happy. "Keep up appearances. Make sure District Four looks good."

"It must be a relief once it's over," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

Finnick shrugs. "Well, when it's over I go to the Capitol."

"The Capitol?" I ask. Finnick nods. "But District Four didn't win this year, Seven did. Why would you have to go?"

Finnick shakes his head. "I just have to, Annie."

"But why?" I prod. "Why do you always go to the Capitol? You hate it, I can tell."

He doesn't answer. His eyes are trained straight ahead, which annoys me. I want answers.

"Finn-"I start to say, but Finnick's stony expression breaks suddenly and a smile replaces it.

"When did you get so nosy?" he laughs, reaching out to tickle me. "Huh?"

I step back from his hand before he can reach me. "You're one to talk," I grin. "You're the nosiest person I know."

"Maybe," he admits. "But from what Lana tells me, you're the most ticklish person _she_ knows."

My mouth drops open. "She didn't," I gasp.

Finnick smiles. "She did," and then he advances towards me, hands out. I dance away from him, laughing in spite of myself. He grabs me and his hands brush across my ribcage. Through laughter I try to protest, but the sensation is too much and eventually I'm lying in the sand, giggling like an idiot.

"Finn!" I shriek, sides aching. "Finn, stop it!"

To my surprise, he stops tickling me and sits back on his legs, a weird smile on his face. "Finn," he says quietly, like he's testing out the name. "No one's ever called me Finn before."

"Well, I just did," I sit up and scoot away from him slightly so I'm out of range of his hands. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Finnick says. "It's nice." He smiles at me and stands up from his spot on the sand. He offers his hand to me while bowing, making me laugh. "Come along, Miss Cresta," he quips in a Capitol accent. "We have places to be."

"What places?" I ask while Finn pulls me up from the ground.

"My house," he explains. "Come on, it's time for dinner."

* * *

Mags is ancient. She's older than the Games themselves, and it shows.

But she makes great pancakes.

Finnick shovels his eight pancake into his mouth, and I watch in mild fascination. The pancakes are delicious, but I could never eat that many. Maybe it's because it's a little disconcerting, eating something I associate with breakfast for dinner. But that's the Victor way of life for you. You can do whatever you like.

Mags hovers around Finn like a mother. She offers him another pancake and he accepts, smiling around the pancake in his mouth.

His parents, I've noticed, are mysteriously absent from the house. I'm itching to ask where they are but know I should restrain myself.

"Do you want another pancake, Annie?" Mags asks.

"Oh, no thank you." I say. Mags sits down next to me and smiles.

"What a beautiful clip," she compliments.

I touch the seashell clip in my hair. I'd forgotten I'd put it on earlier today. "Thank you," I say. "It was my mom's."

There is an uncomfortable pause, and I brace myself for awkward questions concerning my mother.

"They're setting up the stage for the Victory Tour," Finnick blurts. His eyes shift toward me, and I give him a look that I hope shows my gratitude.

"Is that so?" Mags says. "Mayor Allardyce is starting early this year."

"Yeah, you can see it on the beach," he stands up and walks to the window. "Oh, never mind. It's too dark."

"What?" I exclaim. I hurry over to the window and sure enough, the sun is sinking below the horizon. "I've got to get home."

"I'll walk you home," Finnick offers.

"Thank you," I say. "Goodbye Mags. It was nice seeing you again!"

Mags waves goodbye as Finnick and I leave. We talk idly about this and that, and arrive at my house in no time.

I pause at the door, not sure what to say. Finnick scratches the back of his head.

"Goodnight Annie," he says finally.

I smile. "Goodnight Finn."

* * *

_A/N: Well, that was...that was... That was fluff. There's no use in denying that. But it was **character development**!_

_No it wasn't._

_Oh, well. It doesn't matter. Everything falls to shit in the next chapter. I mean, what? Anyway, I've decided to change the story to Before the Tide because...yeah. That's why. All right, enough of my babbling. I will see you lovely guys next time!_

_-Kate_

_**Oh also here's a disclaimer Suzanne Collins blah blah blah.**  
_


	6. Chapter 6

I haven't seen Finnick in two weeks.

I'm doing my best not to dwell on it, but it's a slow day at the market and there's not much else to do but lean against the vending booth and stare into space. Thinking about it puts a bitter taste in my mouth, and it's driving me nuts. I'm irritated beyond all reason and there isn't anything I can do about it.

"Hey Annie," I look up and for a moment I'm blinded by the sun. I can't see who's speaking, but I assume it's Finnick and start to form an angry retort. "We missed you at the Training Center today."

Spender Yule stares down at me, sneering. He's a Career – or at least he will be, if he ever volunteers for the Games. I've known him since childhood. My grandfather never forced me to train like he did with Luke, but I was well acquainted with the kids around my age who were training to be tributes. Unfortunately.

I duck my head and fiddle with a net that's fraying on the ends. "What do you want, Spender?" I mumble, hoping that my disinterest will be enough to keep him away. If anything, it draws him in more. He leans against the booth like he owns it, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?" he asks, pretending to be offended.

"Friend," I scoff, looking up from the net to glare at him. "Can't say I agree with that. But _old_. There's something I can get behind. What do you say, Spender? Finally going to volunteer this year?"

Spender's eyes narrow. "It's a possibility," he says.

"Too scared?" I taunt.

He shakes his head. "Just waiting for the perfect moment."

"May the odds be ever in your favor," I quip, referencing the Capitol's favorite saying.

He laughs drily. "Thanks, Annie." Spender says. "Now, about Training-"

"I left when I was nine," I interrupt. "It's been nearly seven years. If that doesn't say, 'I'm never coming back' I don't know what will."

Spender shrugs. "See, I would believe you," he leans in closer to me and I back away, disgusted. "But I still see you running every morning. That's the mindset of a Career, Annie."

He lunges for me suddenly, but before I can think I've already deflected his arm with my hand, holding it in a death-grip. I let go of his arm like it burns me and Spender smiles. "You need to stop acting like you're better than us," Spender says. "It's in your blood, Annie. You can't escape it."

He turns to walk away but pivots on his heel to look back at me. "Oh, and before I forget. Was that Finnick Odair I saw you with the other day?"

Oddly enough, it's this that irritates me more than any of his other comments. Spender notices and smirks. "Don't tell me you're another one of his lovers, Annie Cresta."

The rage that had been stewing inside me for the entirety of our conversation bubbles over, and it's all I can do to grit out an answer.

"You'd better leave now, Spender." I snarl. "I can do a lot more than block a punch."

* * *

I never explicitly decided that running was for mornings. It started off as something I would do whenever everything else in the world got to be too much. When mother wouldn't look at me, when I thought about my name being on a slip of paper among thousands, whenever I thought about Luke…

Eventually, it became routine. Every morning before mother would wake I'd sprint to the beach, testing my limits, enjoying the searing pain in my legs and chest.

But it was never training. Nothing Spender said was true. I don't run _for _the Games. I run _because _of the games. I'm not a Career.

I can't help but wonder while I race down the shore with the sun setting on the horizon if I'm doing it to prove Spender wrong.

I stop abruptly. My arms go rigid and my hands curl into balls. I grit my teeth together and a low, angry scream rattles through them. Frustrated, I kick the sand, earning me several wary glances from passing fishermen.

I cross my arms over my chest and stalk down the beach. My head is a hurricane of thoughts, and if I don't sort them out I'm afraid I'll go mad.

Victor's Village is only a stone's throw away. The glowing windows of the houses look like stars in the approaching dusk, and I'm drawn to them like a moth to light. I approach Mags' house and knock tentatively at the door. It creaks open slowly and Mags pokes her head out, squinting into the dark. She sees me and steps back, holding the door open for me to enter.

Mags leads me to a small sitting room in the back of the house. As far as I can tell the layout is identical to the one I grew up in. It's disconcerting but I try not to focus on it.

"Would you like some tea?" Mags offers.

"No, thank you." I say. Mags settles down onto a large chair and stares at me expectantly. I clear my throat. "I was, um. I was wondering if you knew where Finnick was."

Mags appraises me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, not enjoying the scrutiny.

"How well did you know your grandfather?" she asks.

My eyebrows knit in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Your grandfather," Mags repeats. "How well did you know him?"

"Fine," I say. "I knew him fine. I was little when he died, you know that. He spent most of his time with Luke. My brother knew him better than I did."

"Well," Mags tucks a tuft of hair behind her ear. "There are certain things that are expected of victors. Certain things you need to understand."

I don't say anything. My breathing slows and I can feel heat rising to my face. I'm not sure what I'm about to hear, but I know that it won't be anything good.

"You've seen how shallow the Capitol citizens are. They're easily amused, vapid creatures who are accustomed to always getting what they want. Always. It doesn't matter what it is. If they want it and they're affluent enough, then they'll get it. Even if 'it' happens to be a person."

My eyes widen. "You mean-"

"The Victors rarely have a say in the matter. Those who refuse are punished, made examples of. Family killed. Friends tortured. Those that say yes enter a world of torment. They become objects to be sold and given behind closed doors. Or in public, if the buyer chooses."

Mags pauses to take a sip of tea. She studies me for a while, waiting to see what I'll do. I don't know what she expects of me. If she expects me to protest or break down crying or leave in disgust. It takes me a moment to find my voice.

"So Finnick…?"

"Yes," Mags says.

"Are his parents-"

"They're alive," Mags answers. "But they don't live with him. They don't…agree with his lifestyle. Finnick never explained to them why he has to frequent the Capitol. I don't believe he ever intends to, and honestly, it keeps them safer this way."

"So that's where he's been for the last few days," I say slowly, wanting to be sure even though I know I am. "And if he resists they'll kill his family?"

Mags nods.

"Did my grandfather-" I cut off, unable to continue.

"For a time," Mags says. "Like most of us."

My breath catches in the back of my throat. A wave of emotions passes through me – sadness, fear, anger, but in the end there is mostly hate. Hate for the Capitol. Hate for the Games. Hate for what they do.

"Why did you tell me this?"

"I thought you might have already known," she explains. "And if you didn't, I believe it's something you have to understand if you want to be able to continue your friendship with Finnick."

"But shouldn't he have told me?" I ask.

"He never would," Mags says. "And it would put a strain on you. You'd always wonder. You'd listen to the rumors and start to believe them. I've seen it happen and I don't think Finnick could take it. He's had to isolate himself so much. He's just a boy."

I bite the inside of my mouth until I taste blood, and then I bite down harder. I'm trying to process it all and force it to make sense, but all I can think of how badly I want to talk to Finnick.

"When does he get back?"

"Tonight," Mags answers.

I clear my throat. "Can I wait for him?"

Mags nods, but then she winces as if she's in pain. When I ask if she's okay she laughs it off and says, "I'm fine. Just my old age."

I hug her goodbye and hurry out to the front steps. I sit down, pulling my legs to me and resting my head on my knees. Time passes quickly, and before I know it I hear footsteps approaching. I look up to see Finnick.

"Annie?" he seems bewildered but pleased.

I don't say anything and reach for him, holding him in my arms. Finnick laughs quietly and hugs me back. We stand together for a few seconds until Finnick stiffens suddenly. He steps back from me with a frown and I stare at him, confused.

"Mags told you, didn't she?" he asks softly. I don't know what to say. "She told you?" his voice comes out harder, angrier.

"She wanted me to understand," I explain. "She said-"

"I don't care what she said."

"You could have told me," I say.

"No," Finnick says. "I couldn't, Annie. You don't get it."

A tear slips down my cheek. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Pity," he sighs. "I don't want your pity."

"Finn-" I start to say, but he brushes past me. "I'll see you around," he mutters before slamming the door behind him.

I want to be angry. I want to yell and fight and cry. But exhaustion sweeps over me and I turn to walk back to my house, wanting nothing more than sleep.

* * *

In my dream, Luke is alive. He's locked in a cage that's surrounded by people in ridiculous outfits. Capitol citizens. They gawk and stare until Chevette Loyer – District Four's escort – arrives and starts calling out prices. Luke bangs against the bars of the cage and screams my name, and I watch my grandfather look on in pride. The banging gets louder and louder until I can no longer stand it and my eyes snap open, but the banging doesn't stop.

I stumble out of my bedroom and pull open the front door. Finnick stands there, his fist raised to pound the door again. It drops listlessly to his side and his shoulders slump. The rising sun give me just enough light to see how defeated he looks.

Finnick's eyes find mine, and there is a moment of silence before he croaks, "It's Mags."

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

_A/N: This painfully over-dramatic chapter has been brought to you by boredom, boredom and...more boredom. I apologize. This must've been pretty painful to read. But just you wait! I've got some stuff planned, and hopefully it'll be better than this...stuff. I'm sorry if it was confusing or...yeah. Feel free to hate me for it. _**  
**


	7. Chapter 7

They procure the closest thing our District has to a doctor. She disappears into Mags' bedroom while I sit with Finnick in the hallway. Well, I sit. Finnick paces up and down the hall, brusquely greeting and informing any victors that drop by asking about her condition.

"You should go home," he mutters, rubbing his jaw after a victor I vaguely recognize leaves.

"No," I respond, annoyed. During the initial hysteria I left my house without checking on my mother, and now I worry about her wellbeing along with Mags'. Finnick telling me to leave is more than irritating. It's downright offensive.

"You should really, really go home," Finnick insists. "You don't have to stay here for me."  
"What's with you?" I demand. Finnick doesn't answer. "Did you ever consider that I might not be here for you? That I'm here for Mags?"

Finnick finally stops pacing and stares at me. The room is silent, save for some beeping in the background. Then Finnick crumples down into a chair and I think that he's crying, but he isn't, he's hyperventilating. Alarmed, I gently push his head down between his knees. That's what you're supposed to do with people having a panic attack, right? Put their head between their knees?

I try to make soft, comforting noises but he doesn't seem to react to them and I feel so useless that tears start to leak out of the corners of my eyes. I feel so tired, and that makes me angry. Angry because it feels like defeat, and I can't give up right now. Not on myself or Finnick or Mags or anyone.

"Finnick, look at me." I command, and after a few labored breaths he pulls himself up from his hunched position. His sea green eyes meet mine. "She's going to be all right."

He almost looks like a child, he's so vulnerable. I've never seen him like this. Not as a terrified fourteen year old alone in an arena, confident Capitol celebrity, or the guarded, sarcastic boy I met and hated on the beach all those weeks ago.

He hugs me, but it's brief. I find myself wishing it had lasted longer but I push the thought into the back of my mind when the doctor exits the bedroom. Finnick stands to meet her.

"She's stable," she says. "I gave her an injection and it cleared the clot with no difficulty. She'll need rest – a lot of rest. There are pills she'll have to take. I'm afraid I no longer have any, but there are some herbs that-"

"I'll order them from the Capitol," Finnick interrupts. "Whatever she needs."

The doctor nods and they slip into a low murmur as if not to wake Mags – discussing the effects of the stroke and how she'll have to be under constant observation. I steal away from them and quietly open the door to Mags' bedroom and slip inside. They don't notice.

There's a small machine next to her be that monitors her heart beat and a few other vitals I can't make sense of. I take her hand and hold it firmly in mind, looking down at her sleeping figure. She looks peaceful.

"I knew you could do it, Mags." I whisper.

* * *

It's like I have the ability to be everywhere at once.

Each morning I make sure mother is fed and nestled into her cocoon on the couch. It takes maybe five minutes tops, and right after I run to Mags' house to help her get ready for the day. Finnick has been spending his nights there, checking on Mags almost obsessively to make sure she's okay. He helps me make breakfast – I've learned that Finnick is literally useless in the kitchen – and then I leave to make or sell nets with Lana or keep an eye on Mar while she runs errands for her family. Then I drop in on Finnick and Mags again and usually bring an already prepared dinner with me so they can eat by themselves while I watch my mother and keep her sane. Well, as sane as she can be.

It's exhausting. By the time the sun sets I'm cranky and irritable. So it's no surprise that by the end of the week Finnick and I start fighting.

"What do you mean you don't like fish?" I sputter across the dining room table.

"I never said that," Finnick protests. "I just said I liked a little more variety!"

"What variety? You live in District Four!"

"Yeah," he says. "That doesn't mean I have to eat salmon every single day!"

"I think the salmon tastes lovely, dear." Mags says, only her voice is so garbled from the stroke it's hard to understand.

"Thank you, Mags." I glare at Finnick from my spot at the table. He ducks his head and shovels a mouthful of fish onto his fork.

"All I'm saying," he mutters. "Is that it would be nice to have some crab or redfish instead of all this salmon and flounder."

"Fine," I stand up from the table. "You can make your own food, then."

I walk over to Mags and kiss her on the forehead. "Bye Mags." She reaches up to pat my cheek but misses, so I wait until she is able to before leaving.

"Annie, come on." Finnick whines. I close the door before he can complain further.

"Mar, not too close!" Marius ignores me and continues to poke at the crab that skitters across the sand. "If your finger gets pinched off don't come crying to me."

He waves a hand at me to show that he's listening but keeps prodding the crab. I really don't want to think about what he'll do if he gets hold of it, so I turn back to the rope twisted around my arms and fingers. Lana has banned me from weaving nets until I "stop seething at everything and take a much needed nap", but I can't stop myself from making knots.

I can't hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore because people are adding the final touches to the stage where the awards and private dinner for the Victory Tour will occur tomorrow night. It's unsettling.

My stomach growls and I rub it, frowning. How long has it been since I ate? I need to check in on mother soon, too. I've been leaving her alone much too often lately.

I pull myself up from the sand and shove the rope into my pocket. "Mar, let's go!"

Marius draws himself away from the crab and walks next to me, dragging his feet. "You know, you're going to have to start calling me 'Rye' soon." he says. "I turn twelve in _ten days_. I can't have a little kid name by then."

"Whatever Mar," I laugh, rubbing his head. But then I remember that it isn't something I should be laughing about. Twelve means eligibility for the Games. Twelve means six more years of never being safe. When I drop Mar off at his house I hug him longer and closer than I usually do, and he squirms out of my arms and looks around the street, embarrassed. I smile, but it feels forced.

"Annie!" someone yells. I turn around and Finnick barrels into me. I nearly lose my balance but he catches me before I can face plant on the ground. "Whoa there," he laughs.

"What do you want, Finn?" I ask. I'm still annoyed, but only just.

Finnick bows grandly, spreading his arms wide and looking up at me through his long eyelashes. "Annie Cresta," Finnick jests in a perfect imitation of a Capitol accent. "I, Finnick Odair, invite you to my humble home to enjoy a humble dinner prepared by my humble self and my humble friend Mags." Then, after a slight pause, he adds. "Humbly."

I can't help it. I laugh. "What," I gasp between giggles. "Did you just learn a new word?"

Finnick tries to tickle me and I jump away from him, still snickering. "I can't," I say, and the playfulness of the moment disappears. "I have to check on my mother."

"After, then." Finnick insists.

"Okay," I sigh after a moment's hesitation.

"Okay," Finnick smiles, already retreating. "I hope you like burnt fish."

I laugh, but the chuckle dies in my throat. "Wait," I croak. "You aren't serious, are you?"

He's gone before I can find out.

* * *

Knocking on the door feels strange. For the past week I've grown accustomed to coming and going as I please, but because of Finnick's over the top invitation I feel like formality is called for. I shift the seashell clip in my hair and curse myself for wearing it. It seems so silly now. At least Mags will be happy to see it.

Finnick opens the door in a chef's hat. He grins and shows me to the dining room where Mags sits, looking healthier than I've seen her all week. Finnick pulls out a chair for me and I sit down and survey the food before me. There are rolls, some fillets, and a vegetable I don't recognize.

We dig in, and it's not half bad. At least nothing is burnt. Maybe Finnick isn't as incompetent as I'd thought.

Halfway through our meal the phone rings. I'm not used to the mechanical whirl so I jump a little in my seat when I hear it. Finnick gets up and walks to where the phone is stationed in a little walkway between the kitchen and dining room. He answers, and at first I try not to eavesdrop but when Finnick's voice rises I can't help but listen in.

"The entire week? You can't be serious," Finnick says. "She's still recovering. Who's going to take care of her if-" he stops as if he's cut off, and I can hear the tinny sound of someone yelling at him on the other side of the phone. My stomach constricts when I realize what he's talking about. Finnick being called away to the Capitol. Finnick being forced to do horrible things just to keep his family alive. After a moment, he continues, voice strained. "Fine. Yes, of course. I'll be there."

Finnick presses a button to end the call and then stares down at the phone. After a moment of silence he slams the phone into its holder and kicks the wall. Then he walks back to the table and sits down like the outburst never happened.

"Finn," I say.

"Don't," he warns. He leans over and rubs his face slowly with both hands.

"I'll watch her," I offer. "While you're…" I trail off when I realize I don't know what to say. Finnick looks up at me as if it's a test. "Gone," I say finally. "It's no trouble."

"Your mother," he points out.

"It's no trouble," I repeat. Finnick rubs his eyes and sighs deeply. "I can handle it."

"No you-"

"She can handle it," Mags groans, tired of our arguing. "Besides, I'm feeling much better now. We'll be fine."

Despite the warped sound of her voice, Mags does seem to have improved in the past week. Not strong enough to attend the Victory Tour tomorrow, sure, but she'll have plenty of strength to get through the week until the Victory Tour ends and Finnick can come back home.

Finnick seems to accept this after a few more minutes of arguing. It's obvious he isn't happy, but considering the current situation it's no surprise. He walks me home that night and promises he'll be back as soon as he can.

I wish he didn't have to go at all.

* * *

Finnick leaves on the train immediately after the private dinner for the Victory Tour is over. I'm not sure where he's going or who he'll be meeting, but I don't ask questions. I don't want to know the answers.

I do my best to put Finnick out of my mind and focus on caring for my mother and Mags simultaneously. It's surprisingly easy and the week passes quickly, but I still worry. A storm rolls in that never seems to end, and any calls Finnick tries to make to us last a few short, malfunctioning seconds. The storm reaches its crescendo on my final night of watching Mags, and I'm nervous the whole time. My hands shake while I pour her tea, wondering if she'll be alright if I drop out to check on my mother. She never holds up well when it rains.

"Oh, go and check on her." Mags orders when she seems my anxiousness at the sound of thunder. "I'll be just fine. I've had enough of you breathing down my neck."

I breathe a sigh of relief and kiss her on the cheek, promising to be back as soon as I can.

Hail is pelting down by the time I get home. I'm soaked to the bone and I fumble with the door, trying to enter. It's like someone is forcing it closed, and when I finally push through I see various small pieces of furniture pushed against the door in an attempt to keep it shut.

Not good. Not good at all.

"Mama," I call softly, trying to be heard over the thunder without shouting. "Mom!"

"Who are you?" I hear her voice and hurry towards our kitchen. She stands there in her ratty dressing gown, holding a frying pan in her thin hands. "How did you get in my house?"

"Mama," I whisper. "Mom, it's me."

"Get away from me," she spits.

I take a step towards her, ignoring her warning. She wouldn't hit me. She wouldn't. "Mom, it's me. It's Annie."

"Get out of my house!" she screeches, waving the pan at me, a wild look in her eyes.

I don't see my mother. She's gone, and instead I see a woman whose mind has gone places no one should follow. Who has suffered things no one should suffer. I see someone who has gone insane because no one has put enough effort into pulling her out of the dark world she lives in. And it's my fault.

Then she swings the pan towards me, and I don't see anything at all.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

****_A/N: "What the hell are you doing Kate." I whisper to myself each time I upload a new chapter. Really though, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm sorry that it's a bit rushed. I wrote this all in one go in like two or three hours and only read through to edit it once._

_ANYWAY. I just want to say thank you SO MUCH to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. You make me so happy and if I could feed you cookies or send you shirtless pictures of Finnick or at least figure out who the heck they're casting as him in Catching Fire I would._

_-Kate_


	8. Chapter 8

When I was six I tried wrestle with my brother and he gave me a concussion.

It was an accident, and definitely my fault. I'd leapt onto him with the intention of somehow beating him to a pulp with my tiny fists. By that time the Career mindset was already perpetually embedded into his head; his reflexes were beyond his control and I was out cold before he had time to even think about what he'd done.

So the ache that trickles through my brain isn't entirely unfamiliar.

All I can do for the first few seconds is lie there and let the pain consume me. Through the discomfort I can feel my throat release a low groan as I force my eyes to close tighter in hopes that it will cancel out the throbbing.

"Annie?"

My eyes find Lana's almost instantly. She squeezes my hand and offers me a watery smile.

"W-what happened?" I groan. I look around and realize I'm in one of Mags' spare bedrooms.

Lana's smile disappears instantly. "You don't remember?"

It's like there's a dark cloud in my head. By now I should've been able to assemble all of my thoughts and emotions into a memory that made sense, but my brain is too jumbled and achy. I shake my head to show that I don't, but that proves to be a bad idea when a sharp jab of pain sears through my skull.

"Well," Lana says slowly, uncertainly. I feel dread rising up in my chest. "You-"

"You're awake!" Finnick exclaims loudly from the doorway. Too loud. I wince but he doesn't notice as he strides over and takes my other hand in his and rubs his thumb over it gently.

"Yes, I'm awake." I say, voice dry and scratchy. I notice my heart is racing and pass it off as an aftereffect of whatever injury I have. Lana offers me a glass of water, but since my two hands are otherwise occupied, she has to tilt it so I can take a few sips. "What exactly am I awake _from_?"

Finnick and Lana hesitate. I struggle to push myself up in the bed. "What is it?"

"Mags says you left late at night four days ago-"

"Four days ago!" I interrupt. "That's how long I've been asleep? That's…that's….I missed Mar's birthday!" It's the first solid fact I can grab hold of.

"It's okay Annie," Lana comforts.

"No, it's not okay! It's-" I get hit with a wave of nausea and lean back against the bed. "Can you tell me what happened, please?" I mutter.

"Mags said you left late at night," Finnick repeats. "It was still storming and you wanted to check on your mother. You never came back." His resolve wavers and he stares off into space for a few seconds, no part of him moving except for his thumb across my hand. "In the morning when Lana came to get you there were Peacekeepers at your house."

"No," I gasp.

"They already had your mom in custody," Lana says. "I ran inside and you were lying there in this puddle of blood." A sob wracks through her body and she lays her head down on my stomach and mumbles something. I think it's, "I thought you were dead."

My fingers run through her hair absently. I'm dimly aware I'm doing it.

"They have her in the jail underneath the Justice Building," Finnick says quietly. "They told me she's going to be detained there for a few months. A year at most. I got them to bring you here so you can rest and-"

"It's going to kill her," I murmur. "Being in there. She won't be able to handle it."

"Annie," Lana says.

"She's going to die in there," I state softly. "And it's all my fault."

Finnick starts to say something, but I don't hear him.

"It's my fault," I echo. "It's my-" My body jerks to the side and I vomit onto the floor. My head pounds and I feel disgusting and terrible so I figure it's okay if I start crying.

"Shh," Finnick soothes while I sob into his shirt. "It's all right, Annie. It's all right."

I cry until I pass out again, my energy mostly spent on trying to believe that his words are true.

* * *

"Do you want another egg?" Mags asks.

I shake my head no. Finnick and Mags brought me breakfast in bed – which was very, very sweet of them – but it consists mostly of eggs, which make my stomach churn. In District Four they're considered a special treat, but I think they're oily and gross and I hate how they flop around in my mouth. I only forced down a few mouthfuls because of the worried look Mags gave me.

"No thank you," I say and make myself smile. It feels more like a grimace. Mags leaves to wash the plate. "What now?" I wonder aloud to Finnick.

He rubs his jaw. "Well," he sighs. "You should probably take a nap."

"I just woke up," I protest. Compared to all the sleep I'm getting, Finnick doesn't seem to be resting at all. There are dark shadows under his eyes that I've never seen before. I suppose it's what happens when you have to take care of two sick people. At least Mags is getting stronger by the day.

"Kidding," Finnick laughs. He crosses his arms on the side of the bed and leans forward to rest his chin on them, looking through his impossibly long eyelashes at me in my propped up position. "What do you want to do today, Annie Cresta?"

What do I want to do today? I want to march up to the Justice Building and break my mother out. Take her home and keep her safe like I should have in the first place. But I know that that's not possible.

"I want to get out of this house," I say after a moment's hesitation. "Get some fresh air finally."

Finnick nods. "What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I just… I want to go somewhere that isn't _here_. You know?"

"I know just the place," he says. "Just give me some time to arrange some things."

"What kind of 'things'?" I ask hesitantly.

"Don't worry about it," he smirks and starts to walk out the door.

"Finn?"

"Yes?" He stops and looks at me.

I wobble out of bed and over to him. I'm nervous, but I can't think of any logical reason to be. "Thanks," I say, hugging him. His arms don't wrap around me and his body stiffens. I tilt my head to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he hugs me back. Carefully, like he's restraining himself. "I'm just tired. So, so tired."

* * *

When Finnick said he knew a place I didn't think it would be in the middle of the ocean.

"You're joking," I say. "You've got to be joking."

"I don't joke," Finnick says. "Come on, it's only two, three miles out. It's not that hard."

"Says the boy without a serious concussion," I remind.

"You don't have to row," he points out. "I'm more than capable of-"

"I'm rowing," I say automatically. Finnick smiles.

"Get in the boat, then."

I step into the tiny boat with ease. If I had common sense I would probably worry about how the dingy thing was going to carry us out so far into the sea. But I don't, so I didn't.

"Where'd you get this, anyway?" I ask.

"The boat?" Finnick pauses to push the small ship off from its resting place on the sand. Once it's floating in the water he jumps in. "My dad," he says casually.

It's the first time I've ever heard him mention his father. I'm itching to ask more questions, but I control myself. I remember what Mags said about Finnick's parents not agreeing with his lifestyle and not living with him. How Finnick allows himself to be sold in order to keep them alive. Mags said that Finnick refused to tell them, so why did she decide to tell me?

"Are you rowing or aren't you?" Finnick asks, irritation creeping into his voice.

"I got it, I got it," I mutter, snapping out of my reverie.

We row in silence for several minutes. The physical exertion feels good, and my head doesn't pound as badly as it normally does. I breathe in the salty sea air and feel myself start to relax.

"Almost there," Finnick says. I twist around in my seat and see a huge formations of rocks. According to Finnick, they form a large and radiant cave that makes you feel like you're in a different world.

We carefully maneuver ourselves around jagged rocks that stick up from the water. It takes a lot of effort and concentration, and I can feel my head starting to twinge with pain.

But it's worth it. When we enter the cave I gasp in delight. "It's beautiful," I whisper. "It's-"

"Blue," Finnick interjects. And it is. The cave is huge; maybe ten yards all around with the rocks curving perfectly to form a domed ceiling that has some sort of stone encrusted in it that gives off an eerily perfect blue light.

"How did you find it?" I ask, looking around the cave. I feel as if I'll never be able to stop gazing at it. It feels different. Magical, like Finnick said.

"When I was fifteen I floated off course and almost sunk my ship on one of the rocks," he says. "I pulled it in here to repair it. After that I just kept coming back."

"Beautiful," I murmur, still breathless from the striking lights. "Do you bring people up here a lot?"

"No," Finnick says. After a long pause he adds, "I've never brought anyone up here."

"Oh." Suddenly it hits me how special this place must be to him. He said he found it when he was fifteen, which was just after he won the Games. Is there where he came to cope with the horrors of what he did? What he saw?

"I could stay here forever," I say finally, weakly trying to dissolve some of the awkwardness that hangs around us.

"I'm afraid I'd have to take you back eventually," Finnick says.

I start to slide underneath my bench onto the bottom of the boat to lay down, wanting to gaze at the cave without getting a crick in my neck and making my head problem worse. Finnick grabs my wrist. "What are you doing?" He snaps.

"Trying to lay down," I explain, wriggling my wrist out of his grasp.

"Don't do that," he orders. "There isn't enough room and you'll get splinters."

"Well where else do you want me to lie down?" I ask, irritated.

He pauses, suddenly unsure. I glare at him, angry that he's keeping me from enjoying the cave when he's the one who brought me here in the first place.

"On me," he says suddenly. "You can lay down on me."

I blink stupidly at him. Did he say what I think he said, or is it just my concussion? But then he holds his arms out to me and I know I heard him correctly. His face is guarded and tense, like he's not sure if he's doing the right thing or making a terrible mistake.

I hesitate for a moment longer. Then I crawl towards him, feeling the boat shake slightly with my movements.

We fit together perfectly; me nestled into the crook of his arm with my head resting on his chest. I hope he can't feel my heart pounding, and I bite my lip hard to calm the perplexing emotions quelling in my stomach.

"It really is beautiful here," I whisper, focusing on the light rather than what I'm feeling.

"Yeah," Finnick murmurs back. "I know."

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.  
**

****A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so, so much for all the reviews. The happy sound that comes out of my mouth every time I get an email is inhuman. You guys are awesome, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry for the delay, by the way. I broke my rule about only uploading when the next chapter is ready so I had to catch up _ Okay, enough of my deranged babbling. See you next time!

-Kate


	9. Chapter 9

"Annie, come on." Finnick says. "Wake up."

I blink the sleep out of my eyes and sit up quickly. I lurch to the side and remember that I'm on a boat, so making sudden movements probably isn't the best idea.

I reach out to steady myself but my hand doesn't land on wood like I expect. Confused, I look down to see it resting on Finnick's chest.

Oh. Now I remember.

I scoot across the boat as nonchalantly as possible, trying to hide the burning blush on my face with a curtain of hair. Finnick clears his throat and I look up at him.

"We should probably get going," Finnick suggests. "The sun is going to set soon."

"Okay," I say, reluctantly grabbing an oar. The cave is so beautiful; it feels like such a shame to leave.

"We'll come back," Finnick says when he sees my expression. I smile at him but he looks away. I tell myself not to think too hard about it.

Getting out of the cave is a lot easier than getting in. Finnick knows the position of the rocks better than I do so he takes over steering and I help him whenever I can. I watch his brow furrow and smooth while he concentrates on navigating. He seems so at ease here. I didn't realize how at home he was in the water.

"What did you do for the four days I was unconscious?"

Finnick glances at me, a quizzical look on his face. "Why do you ask?"

I shrug. "Well," I say slowly. "I wasn't exactly mentally present, so I don't really have any way of knowing."

His lips quirk into a lazy smile and he turns back to look at the sea. "Funny."

"Really though," I lean back in the boat so my hand goes overboard, trailing through the water. It's freezing. "What did you do?"

"Took care of Mags, mostly." Finnick says. "The doctor said you were going to sleep until you were done sleeping, so you weren't very interesting."

"Ha," I snort. "I'm so sorry my being comatose wasn't entertaining enough for you."

"You should be," he uses the oar to push off of a rock. We float past the last of the ragged stones until we're in clear, empty ocean. If I squint I can see the shore in the distance. "It was the most boring four days of my life."

"So that's all you did?" I feel slightly disappointed. "Took care of Mags and longed for the day I would be conscious again?"

"I read to you," his sea green eyes look up from the water to meet mine. "While you were sleeping. I'd read you things."

It's too much. Knowing this on top of sleeping in the cave makes my brain shut down completely. My heart thrums in my chest from a mixture of embarrassment, excitement, and something else I can't identify. I don't know what to do or what to say. So, naturally, I blurt out the one subject I was doing my best to avoid.

"Do you borrow the boat a lot?" I ask. "From your dad?"  
Finnick's eyes go dark and he shakes his head. "He uses it most of the time," he answers. "For fishing and transportation. I was lucky he didn't need it today."

"So do you see him a lot?"

Finnick stands up in the boat swiftly, somehow maintaining his balance. "I think," he says, pulling his shirt off over his head. "I'm going to go for a swim."

"Finnick, don't!" I warn. "It's freezing cold!"

But he's already in the water, paddling around happily as if he can't feel a thing.

"Come on," he urges. "The water's fine."

"No way," I shrink away from the edge of the boat. "It's cold as ice."

"Suit yourself," Finnick splashes water in my direction and I duck down, squealing.

He swims around in circles for a few minutes and I watch, fascinated by how natural he is in the water. We're in District Four, so obviously everyone here is a fair swimmer, but it's like he's a part of the water. He moves in and out of the current, his form perfect and controlled.

After a while Finnick notices he has an audience. For a moment he just looks at me while he floats on his back. Then a wicked grin spreads across his face.

He disappears underneath the water and I watch, dimly interested. I expect some sort of silly trick or for him to return with a fish wriggling in his hands. Whatever it is Finnick Odair does to show off in the water.

But after a minute I start to worry. He should be up by now, boasting about whatever amazing feat he just accomplished.

I lean against the side of the boat, peering over into the water. The sun is setting and the water is dark. I can't see him. "Finn!" I call. "Finnick!"

His head breaks the surface of the water at least twenty yards out, nowhere near where I expected him to be. He shouts something, voice tainted with laughter, but I can't hear what he's saying. I gasp in surprise, and I feel the boat tilt forward. There's a moment of stillness and then the boat tumbles forward, taking me with it.

The ocean is even icier than I anticipated. I thrash around in the water, pushing myself away from the boat and toward air. I cough up a mouthful of saltwater and greedily fill my lungs. Finnick is laughing in the background. If I had any idea where he was I would be glaring at him. "Flip the boat back over!"

I face the boat and press my hands against the stern. I push up, trying to make the boat right itself but I only end up sinking deeper into the water. A wave crashes through me, rocking me and the boat and pulling us farther away from the shore.

That's when the nausea hits. It consumes me, making my head ache with a sick pain that quickly spreads through my entire body. I can't think. Another wave rolls through and it forces me underwater. I try propel myself upward but I'm too deep and I'm too sick and I can't move and I can't see and I can't breathe.

Which way is up? It sounds like such an inane question until you're the one immersed in dark water, sinking and sinking, except maybe you're floating up the surface and you should start kicking up, no wait, down, yes down, because down is really up and you didn't remember at first because you were too confused when you were sinking.

Without warning I'm reminded of the night I went to check on my mother. How the pan flew towards me and then there was only blackness.

It's nothing like this. At least then I didn't have to be alert and painfully aware of each moment. The darkness absorbed me and I didn't have to be scared because I wasn't aware there wasn't anything to be scared of.

Not now. It's pitch black and I can't tell if my eyes are open or closed. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. My hands scratch at the water but it makes no difference. I'm still drowning. I'm still sinking. I yearn for air or anything that will allow me to breathe, allow me to live.

Then it's dark. Not black like before, just dark. Soft, even. I feel my body go limp, feel the life leak out of it. The struggling stops because I want to save energy for as long as I can even though I know it's futile. All I can do now is sink…and sink….and sink…

Strong arms wrap around my waist. They tug me somewhere. Up, down, I don't know. I'm floating between consciousness and the darkness I've come to know so well in the past few days.

I burst through the water abruptly. I try to gasp for air but I can't. Something is keeping me from breathing and I try to fight with it, chest constricting and aching. All the while there's a low voice in my ear, chanting my name. Finnick.

Something brushes across the backs of my legs and I numbly note that it's sand. Finnick must have pulled me ashore.

"Breathe," he urges, but it's like he's a thousand miles away and I'm still underwater. "Come on, Annie. Breathe!"

There's pressure on my chest, and then on my stomach. It increases sharply until I burst, water rushing out of my mouth as I cough violently. It feels like it lasts hours, and when I run out of stamina I slump down, body still twitching from weak coughs.

Finnick pulls me against his chest. "Don't fall asleep," he commands when my eyes flutter shut. I open them, but they feel so heavy. And I'm very, very cold.

"I have to get you to Mags'," Finnick murmurs. "Just hold on. It'll be okay."

He stands and cradles me in his arms before running off in the direction of Victor's Village. My body trembles from the icy water. I focus on the beating of his chest in an effort to stay awake.

Finnick storms through the front door. Mags' concerned voice rings out but I can't hear the words as he sets me down on something soft. The couch.

"Her lips are blue," Finnick says. "We need to heat up some water and-"

"You can't put her back into water," Mags' voice ebbs in and out and my eyes close. "She'll go into shock. We have to remove any wet clothing and-"

"We have to _what_?"

"Now isn't the time to be modest, Finnick. Go get blankets. A lot of blankets. Now."

His footsteps turn into a low, pulsing sound in my ears that overpowers all of my other senses. I can't tell if it lasts for seconds or hours. When it stops I'm wrapped in multiple layers of blankets and resting against Finnick's chest as he rubs his calloused hands up and down my arms and murmurs soft assurances and apologies to me. I lean against him, craving the warmth and comfort. My teeth won't stop chattering and my heart pounds. How close was I to death?

"I'm so sorry," Finnick whispers. "I'm so, so sorry."

He stays until I feel warm again.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

_A/N: So I've decided I'm going to just Almost Kill Annie every two chapters... I'm joking. No worries! Annie won't be having any more near-death experiences until...well, you know. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Bonus points to whoever counts how many times I mentioned Finnick's chest. *hangs head in shame* I'd say I'm sorry. But I'm not. Also, remember my friend's Finnick rule of thumb: He's always shirtless unless otherwise stated._

_-Kate._


	10. Chapter 10

He was gone when I woke up. Gone on Capitol business, Mags says. He'll be back in one week. Didn't he tell you?

No, Mags. He didn't tell me. When would he have time? I almost drowned last week. That makes things like forced prostitution seem like they aren't worth mentioning. At least not to a poor, sick little girl who can't keep her head above water.

I've been in a weird mood since I nearly drowned. It bothers me that I allowed myself to be overcome by the water, even if I was incapacitated from a concussion. I thought my ability to swim would be something I could always depend on. Now that I know it isn't I feel embarrassed, which gives me a brazen desire to prove myself.

So I decided to get my mother out of jail.

It went well. And by well I mean I fruitlessly sweet-talked multiple Peacekeepers for an hour and a half, all the while knowing that every word coming out of my mouth was meaningless.

"Come back in a year," Joffery Herriot advises while he shuts the door in my face. "She isn't going anywhere until then."

I seriously consider trying to break the door down until I remember I'm recovering from a concussion. And drowning. My list of ailments is ever growing. I content myself with giving the door a hard kick and muttering something profane under my breath.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well?" Lana asks gently. She had told me to meet her at the booth when I was done, but she must've gotten bored and wandered over at some point. Mar is with her, twisting a rope in his hands.

"Do you even have to ask?" I shoot the Justice Building one final glare before walking away to stand next to them.

"We'll get her out of there, Annie." Lana encourages. "It'll be okay."

"Sure," I sigh, trying to appear optimistic. We start walking toward the market, Mar babbling animatedly about a fish he claims he caught only using his hands.

"Hey Annie," I look up from the ground to see Spender walking next to me. My stomach twists with annoyance. "You look radiant."

Lana shoots me a look and grabs Mar's hand. While he tries to wriggle out of her grasp she pulls him toward their family's vending booth and mouths, "Get rid of him."

Dejected by Lana's abandonment, I groan, "What do you want, Spender?"

"Your time and attention," Spender says.

I cross my arms over my chest and rest my weight on one foot. "Fine," I concede, figuring this will be the fastest way to get rid of him. "You have two minutes."

"Only two?" he pouts. The wind blows and his brown hair falls into his eyes.

"Well not anymore," I say. "Now you have less than two minutes. That's what happens when time passes, you see."

"Thanks for enlightening me," Spender grins, not at all bothered by my insult. "I just wanted to know if I'd be seeing you at the bonfire this weekend."

"Will you be there?"

He smiles. "Of course."

"Then no," I snap and start to walk away. Spender steps in my path.

"Hold on, Cresta." He says. "You promised me two minutes."

"What makes you think my promises are worth anything?" I question. "Especially if I made them to you?"

Spender scowls. "You'd better watch what you say, Annie." He warns. "You wouldn't want to start a battle you can't win."

"You don't know anything about what I would or wouldn't do," I retort. "In case you haven't noticed: you don't know anything about me."

"Oh, but I do know a lot about you." He chuckles and steps closer to me. "Like how you like to eat up the Capitol's sloppy seconds."

"What do you mean, 'sloppy seconds'?" I feel the blood draining from my face.

"Finnick Odair, of course." There's a glint in his eyes. It's malicious, and he regards me as if I'm easy prey. "Everyone in District Four knows about you two. What are you doing, Cresta? Hoping you can get all his fame and glory without actually participating in the Games?"

"How about," I say, slowly advancing toward him until he's forced to back away. "You stop trying to use that teeny tiny head of yours and mind your own business? And if that's too hard for you you can always get one of your moronic friends to run you through with one of their swords."

Spender raises his eyebrows. "I didn't know Finnick liked his girls feisty," he says. "Must be an acquired taste from the Capitol."

"If you speak to me again," I threaten, taking one final step toward him. "I'll rip your arms off and use them as fishing bait."

"Ah, there's that vicious Cresta attitude." Spender taunts.

"Stay away from me," I seethe, shoving past him. Spender stumbles, laughing all the way. "Come on, Annie!" he calls after me. "It was just a joke. Right?"

I arrive at Lana's booth in a fury. "Let's go to the beach," I say, a fire blazing in my eyes that I know they won't say no to. "I'm sick of this place."

"Grab a net, then." Lana replies, hefting a large coil of rope into her arms. "Yikes, this is heavy. Where's Finnick when you need him, huh?"

Her weak laughter is burned out by one piercing look from me. She looks away, and my heart sinks. Calm down, Annie. Don't go and bite everyone's head off.

We reach the ocean and Mar runs toward the water, screaming something and flailing his arms. He dives into the water and Lana and I laugh.

"Are you going in?" Lana asks while she kicks off her shoes.

I wrinkle my nose. "That's okay," I say. "I'll stay out here and watch."

"Suit yourself." She runs after Marius, dunking him underwater once she reaches him. He flings himself at her and they wrestle, laughing and joking the whole time.

It makes me miss Luke.

We used to play like that. Me in Mar's position and Luke in Lana's. Even when he got older and his training became more intensive – he still found time for me.

I have to remind myself that he's dead and there's no use in missing him. The coil of rope in my pocket finds its way into my hands and I curve it into knots, letting it comfort my frustrated fingers.

* * *

"Aren't you going to eat your soup?"

I shake my head. I toy with the spoon that rests next to my bowl of soup that went cold about five minutes ago.

"You should try some," Mags says. "It's good soup."

"I know, Mags." I mumble. "I made it."

"Alright," she laughs, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "What's on your mind?"

I slip the spoon in and out of my fingers, trying to put the question that's been lingering in my mind for weeks into words. "Mags," I say finally. "When you mentored my brother did you… Did it seem like… Did he act like _them_?"

"You mean the Careers?" Mags asks. I nod. Her face settles into a grim line. "In some ways he did. In other ways he didn't. He was confident in his abilities. Too confident. He had a one-track mind when it came to defense and offense. But," Mags pauses and studies me across the table. "More than anything he reminded me of your father."

If I had listened to Mags' advice and eaten some of the soup, a spoonful would've splattered out of my mouth and onto the table.

"You knew my father?"

"Naturally," Mags says. "He lived with your mother and her father."

"What was he like?" I can't help but lean forward in my seat, eager to hear more.

"He was kind," Mags answers. "But he was different. He spent most of his time lost in thought. In the old days people would have called him a philosopher. Your grandfather didn't like that. He thought your father was soft. He was always telling him to go do something useful. One day he went out looking for a job and, well. You know the rest."

"No," I say. "I don't. My mother… she never told me anything about him."

"Oh," Mags seems flustered for a moment. "Well, your father was hired on as a hand for one of the larger ships that traveled out farther than all the others to gather their catch. Something went wrong, and the boat went down. About twenty men died. Your father was one of them. He was never a strong swimmer, from what I gather."

"Is that when my mother…?" I let the question trail off. I'm not sure how to word it.

"No," Mags shakes her head. "It wasn't until later."

"Right," I say. My brain is still trying to process it all, and it's getting foggy and muddled with the effort. "Thank you for-"

The telephone rings, interrupting me. "I'll get it," I start to rise from the table but Mags waves her hand at me.

"I'll answer," she dismisses. "It's my house, after all."

I sink back down into my chair, remembering that I'm a guest in this house until we can get my mother out of jail and I'm no longer in danger of being sent to a group home. My hands start playing with the spoon again, longing for rope.

"Hello?" Mags says into the receiver. "Oh, Finnick!"

My head shoots up immediately. Finnick is supposed to arrive home from the Capitol tonight. I'd almost forgotten. I tilt my head to the side to better hear the leaden sound of his voice. I can't make out words, but the smile on Mags' face slowly dissolves into a frown.

"Okay," Mags says gravely. "I'll see you in the morning."

The moment Mags hangs up the phone I release a torrent of questions. "Was that Finnick? Was his train delayed? I thought he'd be back by-" Mags raises a hand to silence me.

"I only just remembered," Mags says. "That Finnick's father was the captain of that ship. I thought you might like to know."

"Oh," I look down at my hands that slide up and down the silver spoon. "Does Finnick know?"

She shakes her head.

"Will he be back tonight?"

"Annie," Mags says. She pauses and frowns. I stand up, worried she's feeling the beginnings of a second stroke. I stop when she speaks. "Don't fret too much about this. About any of it."

She excuses herself to her bedroom and I'm left standing in the kitchen, fiddling with a lustrous spoon, wondering if she means my father or my brother.

But there's something in her weight of her words that tells me differently. She doesn't mean either of them.

She means Finnick.

* * *

There's the sound of shattering glass and then a giggle. My eyes dart open and I sit up. The couch in the living room squeaks beneath me. I know immediately that the noise didn't come from Mags' house. She could never voice something so high-pitched, and anyway, we're the only two here.

I don't feel threatened by it and rub the sleep out of my eyes. Yawning, I figure now is as good a time as any to go for my run. I find my shoes tangled in a blanket and slip them on, padding to the front door and silently shutting it behind me.

It's not as early as I thought. The moon is absent from the dark sky and it would be completely black if it weren't for the house with all of its lights turned on. Finnick's house.

He must've gotten home early and switched on the lights in an attempt to put some life into the empty house. I climb up the stairs and knock on the door, ready to open it if I don't get a response.

It screeches open and I cringe at the sound. Finnick leans against the doorway. He's only wearing a rumpled pair of underwear and a partially buttoned shirt. His hair is more tousled than usual and he holds a bottle of spirits loosely in his hand.

His face goes from shock to anger to drunken indifference. He lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks slowly, his eyes never wavering from mine. I'm about to say his name when a woman saunters up to him, sliding her hand up his chest. Her lips are dyed purple and her eyes are so large it's grotesque. There are various enhancements and additions to her appearance, but it's clear just from looking at her: she's a Capitol citizen.

"Finnick Odair, what are you doing, standing out- Oh." She notices me and has the decency to look somewhat ashamed. "Who's this?"

"Orchid Montesi," Finnick drawls, voice made slow from the alcohol. "Meet Annie Cresta. She's a neighbor."

"Hello," she blinks expectantly at me. I spare her a glance and a restricted smile. My eyes find Finnick's once again and his gaze makes me shiver.

He really is drunk. That much I can tell. But he's also angry. His sea green eyes are like the ocean before a storm, churning and waiting for the right moment to lose control. I stare back at him, lost in his eyes that are so clearly saying one word.

_Leave_.

"I- I uh," I stutter, looking down at the ground. "I'll see you around, Finnick."

Finnick's eyes – which had been studying me so intently before – look away. He yawns as if he's bored with the situation. "Bye."

And then he closes the door.

"Who was that?" I can hear the Capitol women's high, tinkling voice through the thin wood.

"Her?" Finnick asks. They start to walk deeper into the house, leaving me alone on the front porch. But I can still hear Finnick's response.

"No one."

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.  
**

****_A/N: Well, that was a thing I just did. Still trying to find out _why _I just did it. But I guess it's one of those things I'll never understand, like how Algebra works or why potato chips are so tasty. But anyway. You guys are the greatest! Your reviews make me so, so happy. You have no idea. I wish I could give you all cookies or at least tell you who they're casting as Finnick in Catching Fire already. Seriously. _

_Til next time(tomorrow or tonight, probably), you wonderful, glorious people!_

_-Kate_


	11. Chapter 11

My grandfather didn't talk to me much. Luke was the favorite, the golden child. I was just the little girl who tracked too much sand into the house.

But he did tell me something once. Something I'd forgotten until now. He told me to count to three.

"You're too rash with your actions," he said after he'd thrown me to the ground and pinned me there with his foot. "You run into an attack without knowing what you or your opponent will do. You'll die in a heartbeat with that kind of attitude. Count to three. Observe, analyze, and strike!"

But I never listened to him. What was the point? He was just going to knock me back down again. I charged into every fight with my fists flailing and was always confused when I failed.

Not this time. I close my eyes, breathing in the salty air.

_One._

It's Capitol business.

_Two._

It's not his choice.

_Three._

I can't yell at him.

And yet my body still shakes with anger. I can't yell at him. I know that. But I still want to.

It's lucky Marius showed up when he did. I'm not even sure what I would have done.

"Annie?" I whirl around and see Mar standing there, shivering in his ragged pajamas.

"Mar, what are you doing here?" I rush down the stairs and wrap my arms around him. "Don't you know what time it is?"

He looks up at me. "Do you?" I realize that I don't so I ignore the question.

"Why are you out here, Mar?" I demand. "It's almost two miles to your house. What were you thinking? Your parents must be worried sick."

"I think I was sleepwalking," Mar says. "Annie, I'm cold."

With his hand held in mine I lead him to Mags' house. I grab a blanket from the living room and wrap it around his thin shoulders. A tear streams down his cheek.

"Hey," I whisper, wiping the tear away with my thumb. "It's okay Mar. It's all right."

"They picked me," he says, voice hushed and strained. "For the Hunger Games. They called my name and no one volunteered. They picked me."

I hold him close to me, running my hands through his soft, feathery hair and making shushing sounds. Eventually his crying softens and I pull away, holding him at arm's length.

"Mar," I tell him. "They won't pick you. It's your first year."

"But what if they do?" he asks.

"They won't," I repeat. "It'll be okay, Mar. I promise. Now stop worrying. The Games are four months away. Do you really want to do this every night?"

Mar shakes his head. "Okay," I say, smiling. "How about we go outside? We can watch the stars and listen to the ocean."

"I love you, Annie." He says, hugging me.

"I love you too, Mar." I reply. "Love you too."

* * *

They come stumbling out of the house before the sun has completely risen, arm and arm, leaning on each other to keep themselves upright in their drunken stupor. I watch them through sleepy eyes while I sit on the porch. I tell myself to go inside, because seeing him makes me feel sick, but Marius rests his head on my lap, stuck in a fitful slumber. I don't want to wake him.

The Capitol woman titters about something, gesturing wildly. Finnick's eyes are far away like he isn't listening. They stagger out of sight in the direction of the train station, and a few minutes later he returns, alone.

Finnick walks to his house like he's being lead to his execution. He pauses at the doorway, looking at it like he's not sure where he is or how he got there. He slams his head against the door and I flinch, waiting for the next thud, but it never comes. He just stands there, leaning against the door until he pulls himself together and enters the house, letting the door swing shut behind him.

* * *

I couldn't make myself go see him. I tried – multiple times – but I'd always end up standing in front of his door, remembering the look in his eyes and then running away like his house attack me.

I'm not mad at him. I'm just afraid that he is.

I want to talk to Finnick. Maybe I even need to, but I can't do it. I feel embarrassed and angry thinking about him, but some part of me still needs to see him, some part of him, and for a while I have no idea what to do.

Then I get an idea.

It's surprisingly easy finding Finnick's parents. I only have to walk to the housing section where people are generally better off – shop owners and ship captains – and ask a passerby where the Odairs live. They point toward a house nestled in a private, shadowed area. I wait until they leave before approaching it.

The house looks empty. I try to walk past it nonchalantly, all the while peering inside the open windows. I'm not sure what I came for. Talking seems pointless; they don't know me, and I don't think I could talk about the only two subjects I know we're both aware of – Finnick or my father – without screaming at them or crying.

I don't need to speak to Finnick's parents. I just need to see them.

I pause in front of the house, looking from left to right. It looks so imposing. I realize that this was a stupid idea, that I don't even know Finnick's relationship with his parents and how he was treated by them. There's no way I could just walk up to it and-

"Are you lost, dear?"

A woman appears from behind a large bush growing along the side of Finnick's parent's house. Her bronze hair looks gold in the sun and her sea green eyes blink at me, appearing concerned. She's definitely Finnick's mother, I realize with a shock.

She's also in a wheelchair. I didn't notice it at first – I was too distracted by her striking resemblance to Finnick. But once she starts to make her way to me I can see it clearly. The wheels of the chair scrape across the rocky earth and she pushes it forward effortlessly as if she's been doing it for quite a long time.

"Yes," I lie easily. "I was just looking for my friend. She got assigned a new house in this area last week and she gave me directions but I can't, um, find it."

Finnick's mother frowns. "I don't recall there being any new assignments here for months," she says.

"They were some pretty bad directions," I laugh, forcing a sheepish smile onto my face. I tell her Lana's address with the right amount of uncertainty and she kindly points me toward the smaller, less grand houses where most vendors live a mile or so away.

Smiling, I thank her for her help and walk away, heart hammering.

* * *

"Have you seen him at all today?" Mags asks. I look up from my book to see her staring out a window at Finnick's house, her old fingers nervously twisting a chain around her neck.

"No," I say slowly, not counting our confrontation this morning.

"I'm worried about him," Mags says.

"Why don't you go see him, then?" I absentmindedly rub my fingers against the pages, creating a soft breeze.

Mags shakes her head as if coming out of a trance. "No," she sighs. "I shouldn't."

"Alright then," I say, looking back down at the book. I try desperately to lose myself in the words, but I can't focus. It's like there's a wall in my head keeping me from doing anything. I push the book away from me, irritated.

"Annie," Mags is holding a plate full of food in her hands. "I want you to take this over to Finnick. He probably hasn't eaten anything all day."

"What?" I demand, feeling my mouth go dry.

"Go on, then." Mags says. "Take it."

What can I tell her? That I saw him this morning already? That I know what he was doing? That I'm not even sure I can look him in the eye now? That I'm not sure if he even wants to see me?

There's no point in telling her. I can't have both of them be mad at me.

I take the plate from her begrudgingly and exit. When I get to Finnick's house I hesitate at the front door again. I can see his stormy eyes, the Capitol woman's wandering hands, the bottle held in his hand.

I can't enter through the front door. Not yet. So I'll have to use the back.

The door isn't locked like I expect it to be. I push through into the house slowly, apprehensively. There aren't any lights on, and it's dark.

"Finn?" I call softly into the house. "Finnick?"

There's a quiet crash upstairs, like someone knocked over a bottle. I set the plate on the first table I see and climb up the stairs quickly, following the source of the sound.

At the end of the hallway a door is ajar. A crack of light escapes from it, providing a small amount of light. I pause, not sure of what I'll find. After taking a deep breath I step through.

Finnick leans against a wall underneath a window. Dark circles dust the skin under his eyes and his hair sticks out at odd directions. He looks down at his hand, cursing.

This is when I notice he's bleeding.

"Finn," I gasp, kneeling next to him. I grab a shirt off of the ground and press it to his hand. "What happened?"

He looks at me with dull surprise, as if he didn't realize I was here. "There was broken glass," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to. I just…" he trails off like he isn't sure what to say.

"Here, just put pressure on it," I tell him. "Do you have any gauze?"

"Bathroom," he says. I hurry to the bathroom and find the strips of fabric, forgetting my worries about him being mad at me. When I come back Finnick seems more alert, and watches me with interest while I wrap the wound.

"Thanks," he whispers. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Let's just get you in bed," I say, guiding him to the mattress a few feet away. He flops down on the bed, making a relieved noise.

"Annie," Finnick singsongs. "Annie, Annie, Annie." He pushes himself up, smiling. He looks nothing like he did this morning. I almost don't recognize him.

"You're drunk," I say, because it seems like the only safe topic to comment on.

"Yes," he admits gruffly. "And you're Annie."

"And _you_," I back away from the bed. "Need to get some sleep. I'll-"

"No," Finnick interrupts. "Stay. Please."

"Okay," I sit down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, as close as I can be without touching him. I reach forward to push the hair out of his eyes. Finnick grabs my hand, holding it against his cheek.

"You looked at me," he murmurs. He closes his eyes and his brow furrows. "I thought… I thought maybe if I could look at you and you could look back at me you might…"

"I don't understand," My heart flutters for no logical reason.

"Sorry," he says, letting go of my hand. I don't draw it back to me, just let gravity do its job and let it slip down, resting in the bend of Finnick's elbow. He doesn't seem to notice.

"Annie," Finnick whispers. His injured hand tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Her runs his thumb across my cheek, the rough gauze on his palm scratching my skin. I hear a rustling sound and realize it's Finnick moving across the sheets to be next to me. He tilts my chin and he shuts his eyes, his breath tickling my face. His lips part and he moves closer and closer and…

And I turn my head away at the last second. Because I'm confused. Because he's drunk. Because it's Finnick.

Because I want him to. Kiss me, I mean. I want Finnick Odair to kiss me.

His head falls into the crook of my neck and stays there. I gently push him away from me and he falls back onto the bed, asleep.

He wouldn't have even remembered it.

I throw some blankets over him and stumble out of the room, vowing that I'll make him eat later. Tomorrow. Next week. In a year. Whichever.

The humid air feels salty and warm when I leave the house and wobble to the beach, feeling as drunk and unsteady as Finnick was. I fall to the ground near the water, not letting it touch me. I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them to me, needing the pressure. I need to feel something that will cancel out the other sensations, cancel out the image of Finnick's eyes and his smile and the sound of his laugh. I need to forget the blooming emotion in my chest that rooted itself there weeks ago.

The tears come gently at first. Then they're stronger than a storm.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

****_A/N: Don't hate me._

_Sorry! Not about the chapter. No amount of apologizing will make up for _that_. But I'm sorry for not uploading yesterday like I said I would...I got a little overconfident and thought I could write this chapter in a pinch. I was wrong. _

_I didn't really know how to deal with this chapter, I admit. There's a lot of dialogue that got cut and some scenes I stuck in to indulge myself, but yeah. ARTISTIC FREEDOMS! *shakes fist*_

_Anyway, enough of my deranged babbling. Love you guys! See you next time!_

_-Kate_


	12. Chapter 12

"I don't appreciate loud noises," Finnick groans, massaging his temples.

"Sorry," I apologize, reopening the door and closing it gently behind me as opposed to slamming it shut like I had approximately five seconds prior. Finnick rolls his eyes.

"I see you're feeling better," I comment, indicating the plate of eggs in front of him. He shovels a forkful into his mouth. I pull a chair up to the table Finnick is at and sit across from him.

Finnick grunts. "What are you doing here?"

I bite my lip. Last night I couldn't sleep; I tossed and turned and tried to figure out if – what? If I liked Finnick? If I loved him? I thought maybe I would know once I saw him, but I'm more confused than I was before. The fluttering in my stomach isn't helping me determine anything.

"It's seven in the morning," I say, forcing a cheerful smile that contrasts starkly with my twisting stomach. "The day is full of opportunity. Aren't you excited to go out and make some good decisions?"

"I think I'm still recovering from the bad ones," he mutters. Finnick holds up his bandaged hand, stained with blood. "What happened last night?"

"Oh," I say, alarmed. "I should probably change those."

I reach for his hand but he pulls away. "That doesn't answer my question," he reminds.

Sighing, I let my hands drop down onto the countertop. Part of me is panicked. I don't know how much he remembers from last night, or how much I want him to remember.

"You cut your hand," I say slowly. "I'm not sure how. You were already bleeding when I showed up. Not that much. You won't need stitches or anything like that. At least, I don't think so."

Finnick nods, rubbing his palm as if checking for pain. "Your eyes are red," he comments.

Probably from all the crying. "So are yours," I point out. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, you were really, really drunk yesterday."

"But you weren't," Finnick says. "So why are they red?"

I hesitate. "Because," I say. "I couldn't sleep well last night."

"Last night," he lets out a low whistle. "It must have been wild. What else happened? Did I run through the streets naked?"

"No," I don't laugh, but I can tell he wants me to. I frown instead, feeling the secret push against my lips. The kiss. Tell him about the almost-kiss, Annie. He doesn't remember it. Don't you want him to?

"What, then?" Finnick's jaw contracts. "Annie, are you upset?"

"I'm fine," I say, looking down.

"Is this because of what happened yesterday?" he asks. "When you… when you saw me… Look, Annie. I didn't mean for you to-"  
"I met your mother," I blurt, because it seems better than continuing this conversation. It's also the only thing I can think of saying other than predominant thought in my mind: You almost kissed me. I almost let you. "Yesterday. I went to your parent's house."

Finnick's mouth is slightly agape. "Why would you do that?"

"I don't know," I say. "I just- I wanted to… I don't know." I finish lamely. I wish I could think of a good reason. I want to say it's because I felt like I had to or I needed to tell them something, but I didn't. I just wanted to be near him when he wouldn't let me in.

"Did you see her in her…" he trails off and rubs his eyelids.

"Yes," I whisper.

I'm curious. I want to ask him how, ask him what event could have possibly occurred that would've caused his mother to be confined to a chair for the rest of her life, but I'm afraid of awakening something inside of him that neither of us would be able to control.

"She's like that because of me, you know." He says, hunching forward in his seat.

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true!" Finnick explodes, making me jump. "It happened maybe two, three years ago. The early days. Back when I wasn't they're perfectly trained little lap dog. They called me in and I said I didn't want to go. Thought I had the right to stay home. They couldn't make me! I was the famous Finnick Odair!"

He spits the last words bitterly. Part of me wants to reach for him, try to comfort him. But I can see in his eyes that he's in a dark place I dare not follow.

"The next day I go out to see some old friends. Anything to get out of the house. I'm gone for most of the day, and when I get back…" he clears his throat, keeping his face stoic. "My mom was just lying there. She wouldn't move and I couldn't wake her up. So I called in a doctor and he says she's in a coma that she has a five percent chance of coming out of.

"President Snow called that night. He heard about my mother and wanted to send me his condolences. Then he invited me to the Capitol for the weekend to attend a party and 'take my mind off things.'" Finnick shakes his head. "So I went. I did what they told me to do because I knew they were the ones that hurt her and I was afraid they'd do something worse if I didn't. When I got back, my mother was awake. But she'll never walk again."

He doesn't want pity. I've known that from the start. So if I let go of the tears that are trying desperately to escape I know he'll never forgive me for it.

"You must think I'm a coward," he says. "It's because I am. I don't think I'll ever be able to stand up to them. I'll always be what the Capitol wants me to be. A tribute. A murderer. A prostitute."

"Finn," I say desperately. "You aren't-"

"I'm tired," he states flatly, not giving me room for an interjection. "I'm going to sleep."

He walks past me to get to his bedroom. I let him go. I don't know how to stop him.

* * *

"Let's go swimming," Finnick announces.

I lift my hand up to blot out the sun and stare at him. The rough twine of a net scratches my bare legs that are sprawled out across Mags' front porch. "Let's go _what_?"

"Swimming," Finnick repeats, smirking. "Is that a foreign concept to you?"

"N-no," I stutter. "I just-"

"I want to go swimming."His eyes shine happily. It's almost like our conversation yesterday never happened. "Don't you?"

"Swimming?" I can't keep the panic out of my voice.

"Yeah," Finnick says, oblivious. He grabs my hand. "Come on!"

He drags me out of Mags' backyard and onto the beach. "Finn," I protest, trying to plant my feet in the sand and tame the rising sense of dread. "I really don't want to."

"What was that?" Finnick laughs. He grabs me around my waist and throws me easily over his shoulder. "I can't hear you."

"Finnick, put me down!" I demand, trying to squirm out of his grasp. I feel sick.

"Put you down?" Finnick splashes into the water and maneuvers me into his arms. "Well, if you insist."

"Finn, don't!" But he's already thrown me into the ocean. I go into hysterics immediately, thrashing around in the water and screaming. Part of my brain knows that I'm fine; the water isn't that deep and I'm in no immediate danger. But the rest of me is flashing back to the last time I was in the sea, when the water consumed me and drained me of my life.

I calm down when Finnick pulls me out and sets me gently on the sand. He pushes the hair out of my eyes and waits for me to stop trembling.

"Annie, what happened?" he asks.

I can hardly speak. The memory of the cold water still lingers in my head, and I start shivering. Finnick unbuttons his shirt and wraps it around me.

"Are you afraid of water?" he inquires softly. I nod, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. It's like saying I'm afraid of breathing or walking down the street.

"But I've seen you swim before," Finnick says. "What – oh." He stops, remembering.

"Yeah," I whisper shamefully. "I haven't been able to ever since…well, you know."  
"Oh," he says, drawing the shirt tighter around me. "I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault," I tell him. "You didn't know." He pulls me up from the ground and I lean against him. "Can we go home?"

Finnick hesitates. "What is it?" I ask.

"Do you really think," he says. "It's a good idea to ignore this?"

My heart beats faster. I'm not entirely sure what he's talking about. "What do you mean?"

"We live in District Four, Annie." He replies. "You can't walk around being afraid of water."

"I'm not afraid," I say defensively.

"Then let's get in," Finnick urges. "Come on. You can do this."

"But I don't want-" he grabs my hand and starts walking toward the ocean. I try pulling away from him but he keeps his hold. "Finnick, really. Don't."

I gasp when my feet hit the water. Finnick leads me in deeper, and I focus on the pressure of his hand rather than the icy darkness creeping into the corners of my mind.

"See?" Finnick says. "It's fine."

"T-that's because I'm not underwater yet," I point out.

"Do you want to be?"

I seriously consider his question. Being afraid of the water makes me feel weak. But when it touches me memories of the drowning and thoughts of my father's death make my head spin and I don't feel like I can breathe. At the same time, I miss the feel of the water around me.

Before I can even think about what I'm doing I nod my head. Finnick smiles. "Hold on," he lifts me out of the water and cradles me in his arms. He walks out further into the sea until the water is lapping at his waist.

"Take a deep breath."

I do as he tells me, shaking slightly. Finnick steps out deeper and deeper and then it's as if I've fallen into a completely different world. At first I panic. All I can see is darkness and feel the pressure of the water, but then Finnick tightens his grip on me and I relax in his arms. I blink, and the blackness fades away and is replaced by a hazy blue light that reminds me of the caves where Finnick took me.

We resurface with a gasp. "Are you okay?" Finnick asks. I nod, smiling. "Here, try standing up."

"Don't let go of me," I warn, and he chuckles. My toes brush against the sand, but the water is too deep for me to stand.

Finnick takes my hand and brushes his thumb across it tenderly. I'm surprised I haven't slipped back into delirium from the water, but his hand is like an anchor holding me here.

That's when I realize I love him.

I double over like the epiphany stabbed me in the heart. And it did. Because I love Finnick.

"Annie," Finnick's voice is panicked. "Annie, what is it? Are you hurt?"

"No," I whisper, pushing him away. His touch burns. "I'm fine, I promise. I'm fine."

"Don't lie," he says. His sea green eyes are laced with concern. "Let's get out of the water."

"No, no. Let's stay," I murmur, dizzily. I put my hand to my forehead and breathe deeply. "It's nice. Really, really nice. Thank you for taking me out here, Finn."

A slow and uneasy grin spreads across his face. "Of course, Annie." He steps closer to me and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. My heart may explode. His hand lingers against my cheek, and for a moment I think he might say something.

"Finnick!" A voice calls. It sounds almost like a whisper from where we're standing. I look to the shore and see Mag. I didn't know she could yell that loud.

Finnick follows my gaze. He waves a hand in her direction to show that he sees her. "Just when I was starting to forget," he mutters.

"Forget what?" I ask.

"Nothing," he dismisses. He steps away from me and makes his way toward Mags. I follow after him, the pain still present in my chest.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

_A/N: Well...for once I don't have anything to say. So I'm going to upload this and hope you guys tell me what you think. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting(is that even a word?), and existing. _**  
**

_-Kate._


	13. Chapter 13

"I should be back soon," Finnick says while he opens the door to his house and climbs up the stairs. He just got off of the phone with the Capitol, or whoever it is that calls when they invite him to come…visit.

"When will that be?" I call after him. He doesn't answer. I hurry up the stairs and follow him into his bedroom where he's recklessly shoving random articles of clothing into his bag. "Finn?"

Finnick ignores me and slams a drawer shut with his hip, simultaneously zipping up the bag. He throws it over his shoulder and brushes past me.

"Finnick," I say, voice trembling. "Answer me."

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs. "I don't know," he says finally. "A couple days. Maybe a few weeks. However long they make me."

"Oh," I walk down the stairs slowly. "Let me at least change your bandage first."

I reach for his hand and hear him inhale sharply. "No," Finnick steps away from me. "It's fine."

"But the blood-"

"It's fine," he repeats. Not looking at me, he readjusts the bag on his shoulder and walks out the front door. "Say goodbye to Mags for me." Finnick yells over his shoulder, and the door slams shut behind him.

I lean against the banister, sliding down onto one of the last steps on the staircase, the pain I felt in my chest earlier fading to numbness.

I'll say goodbye to Mags for him. I just wish he had said goodbye to me.

* * *

"Are your lips broken?" Lana's demanding voice says.

I blink rapidly, drawing myself out of my melancholy reverie and back to reality with "W-what?"

"Your lips," Lana repeats. "Are they broken? I haven't seen you smile once in the past four days. Either your mouth is dysfunctional or something is wrong."

"My mouth isn't dysfunctional," I mutter, touching my lips self-consciously.

"Then what's the problem?" Lana asks. She scrutinizes me and her face softens. "Is it your mother? Is everything okay?"

"My mother is fine," I answer bitterly. "Or as fine as she can be, considering where she is. Not like I would know for sure, since they still won't let me see her."

"I'm sorry, Annie." Lana's voice is pitying.

"It's fine," I grunt, turning away from her to look at the sea. I can feel my focus start to dull at the edges as I remember the feel of the waves rocking against me when Finnick held me in the water. The sun was warm and-

"Annie," Lana says with the tone of someone who's been repeating themselves for a long time. "Do you want to stop weaving for the day?"

"What?" I look down and realize my hands are ensnared by rope and that I've been going through the motions of making a net this whole time. "Um, sure. If you want to."

Lana sighs. "Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" She pleads. I give her a look and Lana adds, "Besides the obvious."

"It's nothing, Lana." I insist. "Really."

"'It's nothing'?" Lana echoes incredulously and I nod and make an affirming noise. She rolls her eyes. "Okay, sure. Everything is fine! It's nothing! You're just in a terrible mood constantly and have been ever since Finnick-"

She cuts off and stares at me, wide eyed. I regard her apprehensively.

"Ever since Finnick left," she whispers.

My heart sinks down to my stomach. "Lana," I start to say, an excuse or a reason or a dismissal already on my tongue.

"You _like_ him, don't you?" Lana accuses. I look away sheepishly, cheeks burning. "No, wait. This is you. You don't like him. You love him."

"Of course I love him," I say, voice straining to sound offhand and not like the truth."He's my friend."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Lana argues. I bite my lip and try to not let my emotions show. The desire and the need and the confusion. Lana's temper lessens and she scoots close to me, a mothering look on her face. "Annie," she says gently. "I know you've heard the rumors about what he does when he's in the Capitol. Loving him…like _that _would be a terrible, terrible idea."

"You don't understand," I say. "It isn't… He doesn't… He isn't doing it because he wants to."

"Then why is he doing it?" She asks doubtfully.

"I can't explain it. I want to," I add when I see Lana roll her eyes. "But I can't. And I'm sorry."

"Whatever," Lana sighs. She turns away from me and gathers the jumble of ropes into her arms. "Just don't say I didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?" I questions angrily.

"That this can only end badly."

* * *

"Finnick's back," Mags says casually. I glance up from the pot of water I'm trying to coax into boiling.

"Really?" I ask eagerly. Mags gives me a peculiar look and I inspect the pot with newfound interest. "Oh…that's nice. Has he been here long?"

A small smile crosses Mags' face. "Yes," she answers. "A day."

"A _day_?" I repeat, surprised. I think I hear Mags chuckle. "Oh. I, uh…didn't know."

"Well," Mags says. "He's usually very tired after travelling."

"I know," I reply quickly. "I'll go see him…later. I'm, uh. I think I'll go down to the beach first. I haven't been outside in a while."

"Weren't you just outside with Lana?" Mags asks, frowning.

"Uh…" I say awkwardly, trying to come up with a passable cover-up. "You know me. I love the sun. And the beach. Will you keep an eye on this water for me? Thanks Mags!"

I'm out the door before she can say a word. The sand scalds my feet while I storm out to the beach, head down, arms crossed, not seeing anything but the ground in front of me.

"Annie!" a voice calls. I turn just as Marius crashes into me, and we both go tumbling down into the sand.

"Mar!" I laugh, sitting up. "Hello to you, too!"

"Sorry," Mar mumbles, not looking sorry at all. "I was just excited."

"Where's Lana?" I ask him, squinting down the beach. All I can see are a few boats and a lone figure grappling with a spear. A Career.

"Annie," Mar huffs. "I'm twelve years old. I can leave the house by myself now."

"Right," I say. "Sorry. I forgot."

"Sure," he says disbelievingly. The skeptical look on his face is soon replaced with a bright smile. "So guess what?" He doesn't leave me time to answer. "I talked to Finnick and he said he would help me start training because dad is too busy at the shop and-"

"Whoa, Mar." I interrupt. "Slow down. When did you see Finnick?"

"Last night," Mar says.

"_When_ last night?" I ask, more concerned about Mar than Finnick, surprisingly.

Marius hesitates. "Late," he says finally.

"How late?" He doesn't answer. "Mar, were you sleepwalking again?"

"No," he says sheepishly. It's obviously a lie but before I have time to call him out on it, he continues talking at a rapid pace. "But Finnick found me and he walked me home and he told me about fishing and how he was my age when he started using a trident and that he would help me train because dad is always too busy working at the shop or at the vending booth or-"

"So you're saying," my voice is tinted with a seriousness I didn't think I was capable of. "That Finnick said he'd help you train for the Games?"

"Yeah," Mar says brightly. Then he notices my expression. "Annie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I brush past him gently. "I've got to go."

"Go where?" Mar asks.

"I'll see you later!" I call over my shoulder, already sprinting in the direction of Finnick's house. The back door is unlocked and I enter without knocking. None of the lights are on and all of the curtains are drawn, making the house seem dreary and empty. Finnick sits at the kitchen counter hunched over a bowl of soup. He looks surprised to see me.

"What," I say slowly, my lack of breath from running doing nothing to curb my anger. "Makes you think that you can just offer to train someone for a publicized bloodbath when they're only _twelve years old_?"

Finnick wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he clears his throat and looks away from me, rubbing his palms against the material of his pants.

"I'm waiting for an answer," I grit out, fuming.

"And I'm waiting for you to realize that 'training' and 'preparing' are two very different words," he replies. For a second his bright green eyes pierce me, but then he glances away again.

"Oh, so that's your excuse." I retort. "Preparing a child for the slaughter sounds a lot better than training them for it, right?"

"That isn't at all what I'm doing," Finnick says.

"He's twelve years old, Finnick!" I yell. "He's a little kid. Six months ago he thought he could hunt fish. Now you're training him to hunt people."

"Everyone in this world grows up when they turn twelve," he says darkly, not meeting my gaze. "Marius isn't a child anymore. Allowing someone to be unprepared for something as resolute as the Hunger Games is irresponsible and sick."

"You're going to make a Career out of him," my voice breaks. "And then where will he be? Off in the arena killing people for what he thinks is glory. _That's _sick, Finnick. I thought you hated the Games."

"I do!" Finnick cries. "Of course I do. After all they've done – how could I not? I would never tell Mar to volunteer for something so evil and corrupted. But there is always a chance, the smallest chance that one year the odds won't be in his favor and he _will _be chosen and if no one helps him beforehand there is _no way he can survive_."

He had turned in his seat during his speech to scrutinize me, and when he finishes he looks away as if seeing me hurts him. "Mentors do all they can," he says quietly. "But it's rarely ever enough. They need help. They can't help someone so vulnerable. Everyone needs some form of training, Annie. You should know that. You trained with your grandfather until he died."

It's a slight that wasn't mean to hurt, but does so anyway. The realization of my own hypocrisy is like a slap across the face and a single tear glides down my cheek. I'm so stupid. How am I so stupid. Finnick stands up from the counter and carries his bowl to the sink. It's like I'm not even here.

"I…" I trail off, realizing I have nothing to say. Finnick glances up at me and then looks back down, almost with disinterest. I'm hit with a sudden desire to have his attention. To be held by him, or to be alone with him in the caves again. I don't know. I do my best to shut the feelings down.

A minute passes, but it feels like a lifetime. I can't stand being in the house with him for a moment, so I walk quickly out of the house, feeling as if I might explode.

As far as I know, Finnick never looked up.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

_A/N: Why hello there you beautiful people. I'm sorry for not uploading in however many days...I was really busy, like, lying in bed and sleeping and lying in bed some more. It takes up a lot of time. I also haven't written the chapter after this one. So that's...not good. Poor Annie. In love with Finnick. And so on and so on. I'm not even sure what I'm saying but HEY WE'RE INTO THE DOUBLE DIGITS OF CHAPTERS NOW AND I JUST ONLY NOTICED WOOH!_

_okay bye._

_-Kate._


	14. Chapter 14

I used to think that nothing could feel worse than not being able to fall asleep. Then I met Finnick. And falling for him had hurt worse than any other pain I could imagine.

But not being able to sleep _and _being in love with Finnick? There is no sensation that could be more awful.

My sheets are too smooth and I crave the uncomfortable scratchy feeling that the blankets back home had. Twitching under the covers, my legs are practically begging me to put them to use and go on a long, hard run that will leave me breathless and empty except for an overwhelming burn. Then there's my head, which won't stop bringing up every tiny detail of my argument with Finnick and playing them over and over, only to be interrupted by a fleeting memory of happiness that feels like ice in my chest.

With a curse I sit up and swing my legs off of the bed. I grab the shoes I had discarded recklessly after I came back to the house from Finnick's in a flush and told Mags I would be going to bed early. That was two hours ago, and the summer sun still hangs steadily in the sky.

Silently, I slip out of the house, managing not to disturb Mags from whatever is currently occupying her time. During the short walk to the beach I pull my hair into a sloppy braid, wondering if Finnick can see me from his house and whether or not I want him to.

I know as soon as I begin running that it won't be satisfying. Something is off, my brain is elsewhere, and it frustrates me so much that I push myself harder until I feel like my feet aren't even touching the ground.

When the sun sets the burning in my ribcage is too much and I have to stop, but the clouds in my mind are still there. Breathing heavily, I walk down the beach, figuring that if I put as much distance between me and Finnick as possible all of my problems will magically disappear.

Before I can realize that it's futile, I'm approaching a small mountain of branches and spare bits of wood near a secluded cove. A small group of boys surround it, adding more to the pile while a gaggle of girls and a few guys lounge near them and sip inconspicuously from bottles.

Spender Yule is among them, and when he notices me he waves for me to come over. My feet move on their own accord, and before I know it I'm standing in front of him just as the bonfire blazes to life.

"Hey Annie," he says. "I thought you were too good for bonfires."

The retort is ready on my tongue, something about his likeness to cavemen and their fascination with fires. But I hesitate.

"I thought so too," I admit, remembering what Finnick told me. That I was born a Career. "But I guess I was wrong."

I sit down next to Spender and the fire crackles in the background over the sound of rowdy conversation. He seems shocked. I recognize some of the others from school, and they greet me with various forms of friendliness. They all look like frowns to me.

Realizing that this was a pathetic lapse in judgment, I stand to leave. Spender grabs my wrist. "Hey," his voice sounds lighter than I've ever heard it. "Stay awhile."

Then he's pressing a bottle of spirits into my hand and I raise it to my lips because I can't think of any reason not to. I down it in one go, gasping as the liquid burns my throat. Spender gives a cheeky laugh that I reciprocate before grabbing the first unopened bottle I see. It's some kind of fruity cocktail imported from the Capitol.

A voice in my head tells me that this is a bad idea. But isn't everything I do?

My conscious is silenced with a few sips of the beverage, and I tell myself that this is exactly what I need to let go. People are scattered around the bonfire, lost in their own little discussions. The sound of their voices gets louder and louder and it feels like the swell of a tide, and suddenly everyone is on their feet. Some are dancing, but others are shouting and showing off to anyone who will pay attention to them.

Spender twirls me around in the sand, and I shake my head, trying to figure out how I ended up in his arms. I feel light and warm and detached. But the warmth is probably from the fire. And everything else is definitely from the booze.

I try stepping away from Spender, but he holds me closer to him and I giggle, which is weird because I don't feel happy. Maybe angry. But I don't want to be angry, so I take another sip of my drink except the bottle is no longer in my hand. I look at it, confused. Then I laugh, because it's funny, I guess.

Spender chuckles too, and the light feeling dims. I twist away from him, but he grabs onto my arms, just above my elbows. It should hurt, but it doesn't.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Stay for a while. Don't leave. Aren't you having fun?"

I don't answer him, just kind of shimmy from side to side because I figure I'll get out of his grasp eventually and in the meantime, why not do something that feels nice? My eyes flutter shut and my ears roar. Everything is shaking and moving and twisting, but that's just me, right? Anyway, all of my senses are dulled and that's all that matters.

It takes me a second to feel the lips moving urgently against mine. I stand completely still and at first I think it's Finnick but then I remember that he isn't here so it must be Spender. Then I'm confused, because why would I ever let Spender get close enough to kiss me? I have no idea.

So I slap him. Because that's what people do when people kiss them and they don't want to be kissed. At least, I think so.

Spender holds his reddening cheek. He calls me a name that would've made me furious if I weren't so bubbly right now. Then he raises his hand and I wonder what he plans to do with it just flopping in the air like that when a big wall of person blocks him from view. I start to teeter around it because I still want to know what Spender's going to do with his hand, but then I realize the big wall of person is actually a big wall of Finnick.

"Finny!" I exclaim, testing out a new nickname. It sounds funny, so I laugh. I think I'm supposed to be happy or mad to see him, but I can't remember which. "What are you doing here?"

He's too busy glaring at Spender to answer me. I try stepping around Finnick to glare at him too, but he takes my hand before I can remember how to squint my eyes.

"Mags is looking for you," he say, frowning. "Let's go."

He starts to lead me away from the bonfire, and my feet stumble in the sand, trying to find traction. "But Finn," I whine. "I was busy, I was-" I stop abruptly and try to recall what exactly it was I was doing. "I was _drinking_."

"I can tell," Finnick comments, pulling me along. "But now you're going home."

"Home," I repeat, trying to remember the meaning of the word. "I don't know where that is. Is it close? I'm tired."

"You aren't tired," he answers. "You're drunk."

"Yeah," I agree. "I am drunk. And you're Finnick. Or you were."

"What do you mean?" I trip over some damp seaweed and Finnick catches me.

"Now you're Mr. Grouchy Face," I slur "I miss Finn. When is Finn coming back?"

"I'm right here," he says.

"But you aren't," I mumble, and then I face plant onto the sand.

Finnick pulls my face off the ground and rubs away the grains of sand that hug my skin. Everything is spinning and I can't see straight so I think it's just my imagination when I hear Finnick chuckle.

"No laughing," I groan. "Laughing is mean. Like you."

Then I'm flying. No, wait. Finnick is just carrying me. I wish I were flying. Then I wouldn't be with Finnick, and then I could forget about how he won't look at me. And how mean he is. And how lovely he is. Was. Whoops.

Someone turns the sun on too bright, and I snap my eyes shut and groan. "What happened?" a voice asks. Mags. We're inside her house, I realize, and the sun is actually just lights. I feel very silly.

"Career bonfire," Finnick responds. "She had a little too much to drink."

"I'd say," Mags says. Finnick hauls me up the stairs and into my bedroom, where he sets me gently on the mattress. He sighs and pulls a blanket over me and starts to disappear out the door.

"Wait," I cry, but my voice comes out barely above a whisper. Finnick stops in the doorway. "You have to stay. It's your turn."

He pauses, and the part of my brain that's still capable of intelligent thought thinks that he probably doesn't remember much of the night when he was drunk and tried to kiss me. Ooh, kissing.

Finnick moves cautiously toward my bed sits down even more tentatively. I scoot over to accommodate him, but he stays where he is. He brushes a lock of hair out of my face without looking at me directly.

"You," I drawl, rolling over to see him completely so at least one of us is looking at the other. "Are obviously going through some serious emotional…" I forget the other word. So I make a noise that feels like it fits and continue. "I mean, a week ago we were friends. Great friends. But now," I make a rendition of Finnick's grimacing face. "What happened?"

Finnick mutters something that I don't bother listening to.

"Now we're back in a bed, like last time." I say. "Remember last time? I do. Want to know a secret?"

He grits his teeth and quirks an eyebrow. Maybe he wants to leave. I should probably let him. I snuggle deeper into the pillows and sigh.

"You, Finnick Odair," I hum. "Tried to…Well, almost did…But I didn't let you…Why didn't I let you? Stupid."

"Didn't let me what, Annie?" Finnick asks.

"Kiss me, stupid." I say. "You were going to."

Then it's dark.

* * *

I come back to consciousness with a groan. The headache that presses against the backs of my eyes is enough to make me want to keep laying in bed, but the dryness in my mouth forces me out of it, wobbling out of my bedroom to the kitchen where a glass of water must await me.

Memories from last night flash in front of my eyes. The bonfire. Drinking. Finnick carrying me home. Kissing Spender. The last one makes me want to vomit, but I try to be optimistic and remind myself that I at least didn't throw up on anyone.

Right?

There are voices in the kitchen, and I instinctively on the staircase stop and listen. Mags' garbled voice and Finnick's deep one, immersed in what sounds like friendly conversation.

"…haven't been here in a while."

"What do you mean?" Finnick scoffs around a laugh. "I'm always here."

"No," Mags says. "You haven't been in a while. And I'm too old to beat around the bush so you might as well say why."

Finnick is silent. Mags speaks softly, and I have to strain my ears to hear, "…because of her, isn't it?"

"Does it matter?"  
"Obviously," Mags responds. "You haven't been yourself, Finnick."

"I'm trying," Finnick blurts. "Really hard to…to not feel it. But I can't." She murmurs something to him that doesn't quite reach my ears. "But it _is _useless, Mags!" Finnick retorts.

"What makes you think that?" her voice is calm.

"Because I don't deserve her," he says simply. "I'm not… I could never be with her and only her. I'd always have to leave her and hurt her. I've done unspeakable things… I- There's no point in…in wanting her if I can't have her. I can't even look at her anymore. It hurts too much."

I gasp, and in the silence that ensues I'm sure they've heard me. But then Mags says, "If that were true, Finnick, then why is she still here?"

I creep up the stairs as silently as possible. I've heard enough.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction. Has this gotten through you yet? SUZANNE COLLINS! NOT ME! OKAY!**

_A/N: Aaah! Finnick_ does _have a heart! Who would've thought? I was beginning to think he was a soulless mutt created by the Capitol to make Annie miserable and take her on boat rides that almost kill her. Speaking of Annie, she should be drunk more often, don't you think? I had to keep her from nuzzling into Finnick's shoulder and calling him "soft Finny" on more than one occasion because, well...because I am strange and that is the kind of thing I would make a character do. Especially when I'm writing at two o'clock in the morning. Bad idea._**  
**

_Anyway, I've rambled enough for one Author's Note. I'm sure you're all sick of me. And if you aren't, would you pretty please review, or blink twice if you can hear me or something of the sort? *puppy dog eyes*_

_-Kate_


	15. Chapter 15

"Hey, wake up."

Groaning, I roll over and nestle deeper into my pillow. The impression of a dream still drifts through the corners of mind and I cling to it, smelling the saltiness of the oceans and feeling the warmth of someone holding me close to them.

"Come on." The pillow is yanked out from underneath me. "I've got a low tolerance for girls with hangovers. Wake up."

I open my eyes just a crack to see Lana standing over me, a frown on her face. "Drink this," she orders, holding out a glass of water. I ignore her in favor of sitting up. A sharp pain stabs at my temples and I shut my eyes immediately, making a whining sound.

"That's what you get," Lana simpers and shoves the icy glass into my hand. I sip from it gratefully, the cool water ebbs the dull ache that has spread through my body. "If you're going to vomit I suggest you do it now."

"I'm fine," I gasp, setting the cup gingerly on the bedside table. "Who let you in?"

"Mags," Lana answers. She sits down on the corner of the bed and a memory surfaces briefly, but it's gone before I can hold onto it. "She said you were indisposed, which I guess is polite-talk for passed-out-drunk."

"Ha," I say drily. I push some of the hair out of my face and focus my eyes on Lana. Her long hair is pulled back into a uniform braid, and her mouth is set in a grimace. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," Lana says. "I just dropped off Mar with Finnick." I wince at the news, recalling my argument with him and its aftermath. And something else, something I should remember—"I had the misfortune of running into Spender and some of his friends on the way here. They were talking about your dazzling appearance at the bonfire last night. I didn't think it was true, but," she pauses, surveying me. "It seems you've proved me wrong."

"I'm sorry," I sigh, pressing my fists against my eyelids. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just-"

"You don't need to apologize," she says. "Just don't do it again, okay? Getting drunk around Careers…" Lana shivers. "It's not exactly safe."

"I can take care of myself," I tell her.

"Sure you can," she replies. "You're Annie Cresta. The strongest, smartest girl I know. Your only weakness is your inability to hold your liquor."

"Shut up," I complain, punching her shoulder lightly.

"Seriously," Lana laughs. "How'd you even manage to get home last night? From what the Careers were saying it sounded like you were drinking buckets."

"That was an exaggeration. And I-"The explanation dies in my throat. "Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing," I say, drawing my knees to my chest. "I can't remember how I got home, that's all. It's like…" I try to draw up a memory from last night, but after kissing Spender my mind is a wall of black. Oh, right. I smacked lips with a Career. I look at Lana and consider telling her, but this is a secret I'm taking to the grave. "I'm just drawing to a blank."

"Well," she sighs. "You obviously got here somehow. Do you think you can get up now?"

"Do I have to?" I whine. Lana nods and grabs me by the arm, yanking me out of bed while I struggle to untangle my limbs and remain upright. She has the decency to let me shower, and the warm water running through my hair removes the majority of the ache in my body. I dress quickly and join Lana downstairs.

"Where are we going?" I ask, wringing the last of the water out of my hair.

"What else do we do with our spare time?" Lana gestures toward the pile of rope sitting on the deck outside. "And anyway, I want to keep an eye on Mar. Not that I don't trust Finnick or anything…"

"I understand," I say quickly. An image of Finnick's silhouette in a doorway flashes in front of my eyes. Lana walks out the door and I follow, eyebrows knit in confusion as I struggle to remember the source of the memory.

The air is thick with humidity. Lana grabs the coil of rope from the porch and carries it to the beach and sits down a few yards away from the house. I can see Finnick and Mar in the distance, standing in the shallows of the water and sparring with long, thin sticks. Spears, maybe.

The sand is so hot it burns, and I hop from foot to foot in an effort to distribute the heat. Summer comes early in District Four, a harbinger to the Games that are only a few months away.

"A ceremonial net?" I groan when I see the bucket of seashells next to Lana.

"Don't blame me," she says. "I'm not the one who came up with our District's weird customs."

"I don't see why they can't just reuse one," I mutter, twisting some of the rope in my hands and struggling to remember the intricate design of the traditional net.

Lana starts to say something about her parents being out of a job if they did, but she's interrupted by a shout coming from the water. We whip our heads around to see Mar holding his fists up in triumph while Finnick clutches a hand to his chest.

"Those aren't _real _spears, are they?" I ask, panic creeping into my voice as I start to stand.

"No," Lana says. "They're fake. Do you really think I'd let Mar go near anything remotely sharp? But he must've hit Finnick pretty hard."

"Looks like it," I settle into the warm sand slowly and take a shell in my hand, running its smooth surface against my skin before weaving it into the rope. I quickly fall into the routine of net making and the rest of the world seems to fade away.

"Good afternoon, ladies." Finnick greets, blotting out the sun. I look up at him in surprise; I hadn't heard him approach. "It's a scorcher today, isn't it?"

"I'll say," Lana sighs. "How'd Mar do?"  
"He's a natural," Finnick says, lifting up his shirt to show welt branded across his chest. Lana rolls her eyes and Finnick winks. "You don't mind if I borrow Annie for a second, do you?"

"Go right ahead," Lana replies before I can protest. Not that I would, but the formality of his question fills me with unease. He offers me his hand and I accept it, doing my best to ignore the swirling in my stomach.

We walk toward one of the docks a few yards away. Finnick is uncharacteristically silent, but then again none of his actions been very constant as of late. His eyes are trained straight ahead and he never stops to look at me, so that's familiar. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something I'm forgetting, something important.

"We can go underneath, if you want." Finnick offers. It's low tide, so most of the dock is above water. I nod and make my way onto the mossy rocks where the air is chilled. I can't keep my balance and halfway down I slip on one of the wet stones. Finnick holds onto my waist, steadying me before I can hit the ground. I look over my shoulder at him, and we briefly make eye contact before he glances away. I try not to notice the feeling of disappointment.

"What did you want to talk about?" I ask. I turn around cautiously to face him, arms held out rather stupidly to keep my balance. Finnick runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat. "Finn?"

"Last night," he says abruptly. His eyes are a shocking shade of green. "When you – Did you really-? I mean, if-"

"Finnick," I interrupt softly. "I don't really remember last night. Bits and pieces, mostly. I remember being at the bonfire and then…" I trail off when I see Finnick's expression. Disillusioned. Embarrassed. Suddenly stricken, I continue. "Did something happen?"

He doesn't acknowledge me, just looks at the ground. My mind runs through every possible situation that might've occurred, but none of them feel familiar.

"Well," Finnick says finally. "You were really drunk."

"So I gather," I sigh. "But what did you want to-?"

"It's not important," he laughs, but it's without humor or feeling. "Come on; let's go back to the others."

"No!" I shout, and my raised voice stops Finnick in his tracks. I somehow manage to maneuver myself over the slippery rocks until I'm standing in front of him, and I cross my arms, seething. "I am so sick of us skirting around each other like scared children. I want you to tell me what happened last night."

"Annie," Finnick sighs and tries to brush past me.

"No, you're not going. You're not leaving." I order, stumbling over the rocks. "Not until you tell me what happened."

"Why can't you just let it go?" he asks, head down. I can see the stubborn set of his jaw and I know that he doesn't want to answer me but I am so, so tired of it being like this. I'm sick of pretending.

"I can't let it go because it isn't fair, Finnick." I say. "You get to have a mood swing every five seconds and I just have to accept it and adjust when I…"

Love you. I would've said it if a sob hadn't wracked my body before I could get control of it. I inhale, taking in giant breaths of air and blinking what feels like a thousand times. "Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you look at me?"

I try to put all my anger, all my frustration into those words but I lose my footing on the rocks and fall forward into Finnick's arms. He holds me firmly against him, keeping me upright and making me feel safe in spite of everything.

The weeks of his indifference could not have prepared me for this. His green eyes shock and overwhelm me, and if I hadn't already I probably would've fallen over again. We stare at each other, neither of us daring to look away as if this is an illusion and it will disappear if we so much as blink.

"Because I love you." Finnick whispers over the roar of the sea.

It's like the air in my body all left in once. "What?" I murmur weakly, sure I misheard him. I must have misheard him.

"Because I love you, Annie." His hand reaches up and he carefully – as if he's afraid I might break – pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. He steps away from me slowly, a look of yearning in his eyes. "And if I love you then I'm killing you, and it's killing me."

"Finn-"

"What, Annie? Do you want me to list all of the reasons I shouldn't?" He grimaces in frustration. "The danger I've put you in. How much I'll hurt you. How selfish I've been. Annie, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sor-"

"Finnick." I breathe, advancing toward him until there's no space between us. "Shut up."

He kisses me gently, cautiously, but it isn't gentleness I wanted, not now, not after all this time. I knot my fists in his shirt and pull him closer to me, fingers digging into his shoulders while his hands fold themselves in my hair. I lose myself in the kiss, and it seems to go on for hours before we break apart. Finnick rests his forehead on my shoulder and I can feel the warm tickle of his breath.

Finnick lifts his head up and I study the green eyes that I'd missed. He smiles – almost sadly – before leaning forward to whisper in my ear, "No one can know."

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction.**

****_A/N: Wow. I'm so sorry that it took me a week to upload this. A _week_. I am a serious loserface. I also don't have an excuse - I was just being stupid and let the whole fanfiction stigma get to me because I am, I repeat, a loserface. But...updates MIGHT come in even slower because, well. I haven't really planned much after this except for Annie's Games and well. Loserface. Yup. I know. I'm sorry. I'll go hide now._

_-Kate_


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